Livin' In The Future
by Ottovw
Summary: John Connor is in the future. He came to find Cameron's Chip. He must deal with uncertain and unlikely allies. Cope with unknown, and unforeseen enemies. Fight the War Against The Machine. AND if that wasn't enough he STILL has to save the World.
1. Chapter 1

Livin' in the Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 1

John-

The future smelled. John had spent a lot of time in the jungle, and other places far less pleasant. He'd lived in small hovels that were little more than a roof and some poles. He'd lived in multi floor shanty's that used stray lumber for stairs and were laughably called 'apartments'. The smell there wasn't bad except for the open air sewer and the higher up you lived the less noticeable the smell. Admittedly, anything next door to an open air sewer was going to smell bad. Ultimately, what the smell reminded him of was a building implosion he and Tim had skipped school to watch. It was, he decided, the smell of pulverized concrete. There was also the dust, not a smell, but a texture that was inhaled. At the implosion they had cleverly decided to watch from downwind. The enormous cloud of dust passed right over them. They looked like they had gotten into a fight with a chalk board eraser and lost. Then just like now, the dust and grit were everywhere. He didn't even want to think what it was composed of.

Strangely, enough they trusted him, to some extent. They didn't, at all, like his sudden appearance in the middle of a secure forward bunker. But it seems that in this future the 'grays' are so well known that the only time they ever left the slave camps was to face the justice meted out by the human resistance. It bothered them that he recognized Derek and Kyle, and at least one person was troubled by his look at Allison Young. He had learned that Derek and his company had made something of a name for themselves in the human resistance. His cell, being so active in its attacks on Skynet holdings and transportation was well known in human circles. Despite this, they did not believe that they might be specifically targeted by the machines. He understood that and agreed. If he were Skynet he would not attack them either. They were gnats. Mosquito's biting at the flanks of an elephant.

On so many levels the situation bothered John. There was no cohesion or any type of command structure. They were fighting a guerilla war, only. Arming themselves with the equipment they 'harvested'. While subsisting on the detritus and cast offs of a military monster. He knew the 'math'. The manufacture of a replacement endo, HK, or centaur might take weeks perhaps months and taking into account what Cameron had told him about the rarity of 'coltan'. On the other hand, the 'recruitment' of a replacement human took a generation. In a prolonged struggle, humanity would lose. What he saw here disturbed him… humanity was losing.

He woke with a start. His pallet was the bottom half of a sleeping bag, the course blanket, they had given him against the cool night, still covered him. There was a figure sitting at his feet, he bit back an angry retort as he remembers where and more importantly when he was. The figure was utterly Cameron, the voice was hers, though it was missing the almost mechanical cadence she lacked only when she was at her most serious. Then, when comprehension hit him and he began to understand what the voice was saying the best he could come up with was: "What?"

"I said", Allison Young repeated, "does this form please you? I assume that this human was the one that your cyborg was imprinted on. I could not help, but notice your reaction to her."

"Yes, its fine, what did you say after that."

"That I cannot linger, I must find John Henry before he attempts to confront Skynet. When I have located him I will come back for you. At the moment you are under too close a watch for me to sneak you out of this camp. I'll be back."

"How will I..."

She was gone. She was there and then she wasn't. His mind could not encompass anything that moved that fast. Cameron could not have moved that fast. Off in the dark came the scraping sound of boots on the gritty cement. "Hey!" Someone called though, somewhat softly, and in a less than friendly manner. Then not for his hearing "What's his name again?"

"John" Someone else said.

"John? John!" Someone hissed from beyond the shadows.

"Wha-what?" He was doing his best 'just woke up' routine. It 'seemed' to work with his mom, though he was never certain.  
It was Dave, the resistance fighter who first found him. He crouched just at the edge of his vision, behind him came Allison. Dave spoke: "I heard voices who were you talking to?" He was agitated, though unarmed. He looked around obviously; there was no one else in this corner of the basement.

Allison, keeping low, knelt beside him placing a hand on his knee. Through the blanket John was very aware of her hand. "Do you talk in your sleep?" There was the slightest tightening of her grip.

"Some-sometimes" he stammered, "but only when I have bad dreams." Another, barely noticeable, tightening.

"See" she said over her shoulder, "John was just dreaming."

"I heard 'voices'"

"May be you heard wrong", she rose, "I'm getting Derek."

"Fine. Whatever." Dave stalked off into the shadows.

Allison lingered at a remnant of wall, "have a good night John, and no more dreaming, all right?" Then she too, left him in his corner of the basement.

Two nights had passed since his arrival and he had heard no word from Catherine Weaver. It bothered him, but he had more pressing concerns. Primarily that 'he' bothered them. He was aware of that. They kept a surreptitious guard on him. He was never alone, except when he slept. There was always someone with him when he ate, when he wandered the camp. He kept waiting to be debriefed, or interrogated. The first night there had been the most cursory of 'interviews' but nothing since. Another curiosity, of that first night, is that he and Dave never spent any time alone. The camp bustled they were preparing to move at first dark.

He was eating breakfast, it was a lukewarm kind of mush made of a variety of coarsely ground grains boiled together, some salt, and mixed with powdered milk. He knew this because one of his first chores as a 'recruit' was cooking this 'breakfast' and doing the dishes after wards. It was kind of bland, but still better than his mom's pancakes. That stray thought brought a tightening in his throat, and a blurring of his vision. Almost blindly he continued to spoon the soupy mess into his mouth. This morning he was eating with Allison. They were sitting on raised concrete platform, he guessed it had once supported a generator, the sheared anchor bolts were still there, but he couldn't imagine what had happened to the generator. It had been quite large. The platform was only 5 inches tall. They were sitting with their bowls balanced on their knees, which were almost up to their chins. "What was her name?"

"What?" John asked disturbed from his thoughts about missing generators.

"The night we found you. You seemed to recognize me. Who did you think I was? What was her name?"

He thought about his answer. What could he tell her? What would she believe or even understand? "Her name was Cameron." He found himself, fighting for control, just saying her name. "She… She's in the past, it doesn't matter anymore."

"But who was she?" Allison twisted towards him her thigh brushed against his. The touch was brief and light, he pretended to ignore it. She didn't have the 'head tilt', a question like that would have almost required the 'tilt'. Her face was so much more animated. More like when they were in school, or that time when she thought she was 'Allison' than when she was at home. He watched all this peripherally. She seemed to be trying to make eye contact. He pretended not to notice that either. For John lying was far more a tactical or strategic choice than a moral one. He understood plainly that above all else he needed these people and he could not afford to alienate them. He didn't want to lie, but what else could he say.

"She was" he started and faltered, he could feel the muscles in his face pulling, pulling down.

"She was m-my" he faltered again. His eyes took on a steely look that in another place and another time, he was famous for. He took a breath like someone about to jump into the deep end of a pool.

"She was my sister." He blinked frantically. She was just a machine he raged at himself. Another part of him, the stronger part of him, raged back: No, she was more than _just_ a machine. When his vision cleared, he stole a glance at Allison. Their eyes met. What did he see there: Concern? Pity? Relief? The reflection of his own anguish?

She looked away down at her chipped bowl of breakfast. She set it down, with a clatter, not half eaten. It was a discordant sound in the otherwise quiet camp. "We lose everyone we love." She whispered. He jerked, and turned, almost earning a lap full of 'warmish' 'breakfast'. His knee hard against hers, neither noticed. He tried to read what he saw there. He could see the edge of an ear, the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. A landscape that he knew intimately, a geography he knew by heart, but could no longer comprehend. He stared, like an amnesiac lost in his own home. She didn't notice, lost as she was in her own misery.

They moved at night. They moved in small groups. Three or four to a group, the entire camp was split and took three separate routes. They moved quickly and quietly. The first group left taking one route. Ten minutes later a second group on another route, and so on. No two groups of on the same route were within 20 minutes of each other. There would be no support. If there was trouble it would be you and your three buddies. What struck John was that so many left the camp, like John, unarmed. Either there were not enough weapons. Which he couldn't believe, or there wasn't enough ammunition. Which, he also, couldn't believe. This left him thinking that many in the camp were like him, civilians or noncombatants. His first thought was why were so many here? So close to the fighting but then, he thought, where wouldn't there be fighting? "No one is ever safe." An axiom he has known his whole life, and something he now would get to see others live by.

Some had gathered packs, their belongings, camp utensils, and supplies. He had nothing. His clothes, the ill fitting boots, were hand-me-downs. His coat was a 'gift' from a man who didn't even know John was his son.

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "Looks like your running with me kid." It was Kyle; the voice was not how he had imagined it. His voice was higher pitched, may be softer it wasn't as cold and hard as he had always thought it would be.

He smiled at him over his shoulder. "Derek seems to think you're important."

The smile he got back was contemplative. It was the smile of someone trying to solve a riddle and worried that they are the butt of the joke. He nodded toward two others. He introduced them to him: Jorge (curiously pronounced George), and Dalia, he noticed that both were armed. This was the first group he had seen with more than two members (the point man and the rear guard) armed. John looked at them; they were alike though they looked completely different. One was darker with an Asian cast, the other paler with curlier hair. But they were both lightly built, wiry came to mind.

Kyle was looking at him: "Do you know how to use one of these?" It was a Colt model 1911.

"Yes." He safed it. Ejected the magazine, pulled the slide, and checked the chamber. Replaced the magazine, and released the slide. Kyle nodded and handed him two spare magazines. Now, John thought, they were the first group he had seen where everyone was armed. 

"Ready." It wasn't a question. It wasn't directed at him. Kyle looked them all in the eye, one, then another, and another. Incongruously he grinned. "Let's go." They ran.

The uneven terrain, the unsteady pace, the sudden stops, the need for silence even during the shortest of respites suited John very well. 'Past' John, as he mentally started referring to himself, ran. Just like he was trained. He wasn't a distance runner, though on a prepared surface he could eat up miles pretty well. He tended to run cross country. It allowed him the most freedom of route, and time. This gave him the ability to vary his patterns, thus making him harder to track. For his own security he even exercised unpredictably. He used this time to think, and John thought a lot. From his training in the jungles in a variety of para military camps he had discovered and fallen in love with 'wind' sprints. Thankfully they used standard hand signals.

As they ran, several thoughts bounced around his head. He decided he needed to reassess Derek's team. They had been trained. This wasn't a bunch of local yokels with hunting rifles and stenciled leaves spray painted on the sides of their pickups. They had good sanitation. They seemed to have good situational security. What he gathered from this movement they were keeping themselves dispersed. He presumed if there was trouble there would be 'rally points' he, however knew none of them. During the entire time they were in the camp they had not been attacked. John realized that he didn't even notice when patrols came and went, though they must. The presence of civilians bothered him, but where else would they be? He blinked gritty sweat out of his eyes. He did notice that he was the only one in his group whose primary weapon was a sidearm.

A clenched fist: Stop. He stopped. Open palm down: Down. He crouched. He kept his eyes on Kyle. Despite the chill, his hair was plastered down to his head with sweat. He wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his father's jacket. Kyle turned looked at him, and gave him a wry smile. He gave the universal symbol for 'honk your horn', and they were off again. He caught himself smiling at the back of Kyle's head. They snaked around some piles of rubble. They dropped down into an impact crater. The raised fist. Where they organized beyond 'cells'? How did they gather intelligence? How was it disseminated? He had seen no communications equipment.

The skulls. There was a sad little pile at the bottom of this crater; water occasionally filled it so they were rotted and spongy. When they first started he had tried to count them. Then they passed a street essentially paved with them. As they ran on, he wondered. How many of them had he known? The up raised pumping fist. Off again. Was Morris in that last pile? Was he still "watching' out for him"? They ran down between two buildings leaning against each other giving this alley a steeply sloping roof. What about Cheri? Into another crater, out past a line of perforated cars. Or his mom? Up raised fist. They crouched behind a pile of debris laced with rebar. Kyle caught his eye. Two fingers pointed at John's eyes. Index finger whirled in a circle. Pay attention. He nodded back. They ran.

They were at the edge of a large multi lane road; the uncountable cars were still poised in a kind of post apocalyptic traffic jam. To his left and his right was nothing, he could put into words. With little let up the packed cars extended as far as he could see. They were following a path between the cars. Off in the distance he could see a spotlight shining down from the sky. It illuminated the distant destruction. He found himself slowing down at the spectacle; he goaded himself back into his run. The route was a tangle of wreckage, like a rusting steel briar. He watched Kyle's passage, knowing that there might not be another safe way across. The raised fist. He stopped. Kyle gave him a look. It was an unasked question; it was not a good look. He was breathing heavy but hardly in discomfort. He realized that he had given himself away out there. Kyle's look said: 'this is new to you. How can _this_ be new?' The pumping fist. They shot across a dangerously wide sidewalk, to the safety of darkly shadowed alley. Past a dumpster. Around what might have been a roof. Behind another dumpster, then down a set of stairs, through a missing door.

The raised fist. Jorge was there waiting, weapon trained on them. "Rest stop," Kyle said. John continued to walk in a circle as big as the room allowed letting himself to cool down. Jorge handed him a canteen, as he passed, he took a sip. The water was cold. He understood right then that the water had been cached here, otherwise it would be warm from Jorge's body heat. He held the water in his mouth to warm before he swallowed it. He took another sip and handed it to Kyle. Who was walking his run off as well, in the opposite direction. He kept looking at him. It was uncomfortable. John watched his feet, and continued to walk. Both of them drew their weapons. John was only a heartbeat behind with his. It was Dalia. John sat and let her walk off her run. Kyle continued to walk long after he would have expected him to, he also kept looking at him. Dalia slapped him in the arm for the water. "Sorry" he said, his voice was distant and distracted. He almost hit Dalia with the canteen.

Jorge noticed: "Kyle. What?"

"Huh? Nothin'." He looked at Jorge, "are you ready?"

"Give me a minute, will you?" Dalia.

Kyle looked at her almost surprised: "Sorry." He sat and looked at John: "John?" He motioned him over. John came over. Kyle was looking him up and down, evaluating. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm good." He crouched down beside him there was nowhere to sit.

"You need to pay attention." He was looking him dead in the eye. "Woolgathering? Out there? It will get you killed. It could get us all killed. Okay?"

"Yeah." There was a long uncomfortable silence. Kyle was still staring at him, like he was trying to memorize his face.

"Ready," Dalia said.

Kyle looked at Jorge. Who looked back an unspoken question. Kyle didn't notice or ignored it. Jorge shook his head and went back up the stairs. They waited. Kyle stood up. "John?" They were off again.

Down the alley. Then a gap in a shattered wall, across a marble floored lobby, through an askew door labeled: 'bank employees only'. Out through another wall. The fist again. They were crouched low beside an up turned sidewalk. John thought back along their route, and their pace: The civilians, the camp supplies, he wasn't even carrying his 'bed roll'. Human pack mules. The pumped fist. A narrow gap, more cars. John was thinking about lines of communication. He saw no radio equipment. Down one lane, across, up another. He paid attention, he looked as he ran. They ducked under a tractor trailer that was wedged against a building's facade. Kyle barely fit the gap; they were of a similar build. They were taller than either Jorge or Dalia. They were inside again. He was thinking about information how it could be gathered and how it could be dispersed. He could see the path now despite the dark, up along the cash registers, then to the right of the tumbled shelves. Left in front of what had been a freezer section. He might have shopped here once, he wasn't sure. He could see the gap ahead in the dairy section. They ducked into that. The up raised fist.

"Kyle" he whispered, over the older man's shoulder. He had been mislead. There weren't three routes there were four, at least, perhaps many, many, more. "What are the signs?"

Kyle looked at him, that same look. It was not angry but it was not exactly friendly. It said: he was suspicious. It told John of a basic conflict in Kyle's mind. How can someone be surprised by the images of decade old devastation. Yet know about their internal security? How can someone know one, and yet, not know the other.

"This is a courier path?"

Kyle gave him a blank look.

"Runners?"

A look that was too blank. Like a mask. This was, he realized, Kyle's 'game' face. He was making a difficult decision. That, he was unsure he had the authority to make. He decided: a quick nod.

"What are the signs?"

Kyle leaned back: "Don't talk" he breathed into his ear. With his index finger he drew a circle over his head finger pointing out: 'they' John understood. Then Kyle cupped his hand to his ear: 'listen'. John nodded: 'they listen.'

He pointed down and out across the way. There was a piece of rebar. With his hand open he waved back to front. John knew it meant: file formation, but it was not just how you moved but what direction you moved in. The bar he saw was pointed along their route. John nodded, when the bar was with the flow of traffic it was okay to move. Kyle turned his hand palm out across their line of march, he emphasized it like a cop stopping traffic. John nodded again, when it was across your path you stopped. He gave the 'okay' sign. Kyle nodded and they were off again.

They continued like this for most of the rest of the night. At one point they seemed to double back on themselves. It might have been a simple security measure, but he thought that they had to bypass 'trouble'. They made two more 'rest' stops before arriving at a 'bunker', it was a subbasement to a parking deck; it was called 'Golf 7'.

Two men met them, at the surface they were escorted down one level to meet with the dogs. They were escorted down by two other men. Presumably, the first two were returning to the surface. They went down two more levels where the scents of densely packed humanity hit him. Here was the open air sewer. There were perhaps a thousand people here. They had punched holes through the concrete walls and widened the parking deck, into the other subterranean openings. Many of which were obviously sewers. Some of the tunnels he saw were blocked off. Earthquake damage, he was told later.

Kyle went to speak to the camp commander. John, Jorge and Dalia were taken to the showers. John could barely contain himself. They had running water. It wasn't heated but a shower for the first time in most of a week was a godsend. The last time he had had a shower was the morning of Charley's death. Of course, he'd gone much longer, but the situations were different. In the past he had been surrounded by people who he 'could' trust and more importantly, who trusted him.

The soap was lye based, and so a little harsh, but he made no complaints. After the shower they gave him a new uniform, his father's coat, and sent him 'up' for a plate of 'stew'. It was the first meat he had eaten since his came to the future, he decided not to ask what it was. The cafeteria was on the second subbasement. There were rows upon rows of folding tables and chairs. The hospital was on this floor. Like the Zeira corp. camp it was eerily quiet. Few spoke and when they did it was barely above a whisper. The dominant sound was the scrap of a utensil on a bowl or plate. Compared to the third level the silence here was thunderous.

"You like deer then." Kyle sat down beside him with his own plate of stew, it was cooked with what he thought was a kind of fat rice, it turned out to be barley. The deer he was told, though he already knew, was local. They almost thrived in the hills north of them. This despite Skynet's continued and almost indiscriminate destruction. The barley came from farther afield.

John looked around at the other tables.

"No one else is here, they are about a half a day behind us, may be more" Kyle said. "And if they stay clear of the patrol we had to dodge, they should be okay."

John merely nodded.

Kyle looked at the other two, "we'll want to get as much rest as we can. We leave at first dark." Kyle seemed comfortable with him again. He didn't know what he and the camp commander talked about but it seemed to set him at ease.

The second night was much like the first. They ran. They sprinted. They stopped. Mostly they kept to alley ways and ruins. They rarely crossed streets, especially wide ones, and never any without some sort of cover. They even crossed one street under the torn end of a sunken roadbed. It was at their second 'rest' that something strange happened. There was not a lot of conversation at their stops. Mostly they were catching their breath and re-hydrating. John sat with his back against a crumbling wall. His eyes were shut but, he wasn't sleeping merely resting, when something grabbed his left hand. He jerked away from it violently.

They were all looking at him.

"You okay John?" Jorge asked.

"Sorry, yeah, must have dozed off, must have been dreaming." He turned away from them, tucked his head down into his shoulder, and through slitted eyes, looked at the rat. It was sitting back on its haunches, like a cartoon animal, it had one paw up to its mouth with a toe extended, like it was telling him to be quiet. He watched it bite off that paw and place it on his coat. There was no blood, but it was disturbing enough to make him cringe. The foot, perhaps an inch long, seemed to melt and blend into his coat.

"Come on John, we're ready." He stood up, and joined the others at the bottom of the stairs. They were off again.

This bunker was Foxtrot 9; John knew that they had been moving mostly east and slightly north. If his assumptions were right, and they continued their current path, the next bunker would be either Echo 10 or Echo 11. This little bit of knowledge buoyed his spirits. Somewhere was a single map, that all of them were using. There _was_ something in the way of a central command here. It occurred to him that it might only be a Metro bus map with numbers and letter written on it or even on those pretty laminated maps he enjoyed so much as a child, but even that would allay so many of his initial fears. They showered and were fed again. Once again Kyle disappeared. Jorge and Dalia did not seem disturbed by this, so he assumed this was something expected.

It wasn't but Jorge and Dalia were 'runners' they were always taken immediately to the camp commander, the camp XO, the camp intelligence officer or the camp communications officer. They saw nothing different with Kyle's visits. This time Kyle came late, they were already bedded down in the 'guest' quarters: a hallway with stacks of unattached bunk beds. He crouched down next to John's bunk. "There's been a change of plans." Jorge and Dalia sat up and took notice. "'The Old Man' wants to see you." He said, though he was actually looking at Jorge and Dalia, they were in abutting top bunks.

"Great," Jorge said exasperated.

"Crap" Dalia. John could almost hear the tears in her voice.

Kyle looked no happier. "Sleep, we are staying an extra day here, we leave tomorrow night." What he didn't say, was the reason they were staying. There were no bunkers in the direction they were going. They would need to collect rations and other supplies before they left.

Sleeping in the daytime was easier underground. There were fewer ambient noises and certainly a lot less ambient light. But he still woke at about 10am, it was dark in their hallway, the sounds that existed at all were distant. He was looking up at the bottom of the top bunk, when he caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. It looked like a tick walking across his bed clothes. It melted into the course dark blanket. "You awake John?" Kyle asked from the other bunk.

"Yeah."

"Go back to sleep. Where we are going you're not going to get a better chance."

He tilted his head back and shut his eyes. Something was slithering up the edge of his arm; it kept to the valley between his arm and his body. He tried not to squirm as it climbed up the side of his chest. It poked its 'head' out from under the covers. It was a millipede. He closed his eyes again. He tried not to flinch as it crawled along the edge of his face and wrapped itself around this base of his ear.

"Please remain calm" Catherine told him, in his left ear. "Do not nod your head. Do not shake your head. Do not respond."

He didn't.

"I have detached this part of me, so that I can communicate with you. At the moment communications will only be one way." There was a pause, as if for a response that he had been told not to make. "I have tracked John Henry to an old naval base in Long Beach. Unfortunately, you are going in the opposite direction. Considering the layers of reinforced concrete, and heavy background interference, this is, approximately, the extreme range of my wireless capabilities. The 'rat' can be used as a 'repeater' but like this 'unit' it has very limited behaviors and functions. Further, even the limited resources of the humans can detect these transmissions." Implying, John understood, that Skynet would have no trouble finding them. "I wanted to contact you before you went beyond my range. I will contact you again when you return."


	2. Chapter 2

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 2

Martin-

They gave him a pack it weighed about 40 pounds: food, long out of date MREs, a half dozen canteens, 2 1 gallon jugs of water, and ammunition. At least this time they gave him a long arm and a holster. Here was the missing bed roll, two actually. A pair of those foil sleeping bags. There was even an entrenching tool. Though he would have been happier with a machete. Neither Jorge nor Dalia, looked happy at all, and they had small packs mostly extra water. Kyle drew his pack on. He gave them that look, but he didn't have to say anything this time. At least, this time he knew the route. They were heading almost due north. To a little place that used to be called Lancaster. There was someone there who wanted to meet him.

This run was not really harder, just different. It took them two 'rest stops' of their usual 'city' runs to get to the suburbs, or what used to be the suburbs. Here there were no paths; there was the open road, a death trap, or overgrown fields and thickets. The pace was slower. The terrain, though flatter, and more homogenous, was denser, and unfamiliar. They stuck together. Jorge, their habitual point man was just ahead about 100 meters. Dalia never strayed more than 50 meters behind them. They told him there were wolves here, but the real danger were packs of feral dogs. The wolves knew enough to stay away from humans. It was a lesson the feral dogs would have to relearn. There were supposed to be mountain lion, but their preferred terrain were in the foothills and mountains they would have to cross to get to Lancaster, and of course, you can't forget the bears.

As soon as the dawn began to color the sky they sought shelter. It was a shallow depression; they put up their camouflage netting, and broke out the foil sleeping bags. They slept in pairs and in shifts. Once they had stopped moving the chill began to set in. It wasn't as cold as the desert, but it wasn't too far off, and they weren't in the desert. He and Kyle had the first watch. John kept an eye to the south, their back trail. Kyle was watching north.

He heard the sound of dry grass being crushed. Kyle snaked up beside him. From outside you would have seen a piece of dark fabric hung up in the grass blowing lightly in the wind. If you were really good, you might notice two pairs of eyes through the blades of the tawny grass.

"How are you holding up?" John could discern real concern in his voice. He began to wonder what had changed.

"I'm fine." He tried not to sound petulant.

"You sure?"

"It's colder than I expected." He flinched, inwardly, did he do it again?

"It's the city." Kyle said, not even batting an eye. "The 'Old Man' told me about it, he called it a 'heat island'."

John nodded, and pointed up over their heads, at the net. "Satellites?"

"We don't know. We assume there are some still up there, and if they are they work for Skynet, now. Also the aerial HKs may come this far north. They look for Infrared signatures."

John nodded again 'may come' they were in a 'no mans' land. A place neither side thought worthy of fighting over. "Saw some deer spore earlier."

"Yeah there would be a lot of them up here." There was a look on his face.

"You're not thinking of hunting them?"

"Nah, dressing it would only attract predators, and we can't start a fire to cook it or smoke it. Just daydreaming."

"Is this where you and Derek used to hunt?" He asked, only after it was said did he realized his blunder.

Kyle grinned, big, and gave him a curious look out of the corner of his eye. "No, that was farther south and east." He turned at him and looked him square in the eye. He seemed to be searching for something. "I got a message from Derek, at the bunker."

Golf 7, John understood. "Someone got there ahead of us?" He could hardly believe it.

"A single runner is _always_ faster."

John nodded.

Kyle continued, "Derek's message said: That you might not understand things that you should. That you might say things; you might know things that you shouldn't. He told me not worry about it, and to keep you safe. So, I'm not worrying about it and I'm keeping you safe."

Just like that, John thought. Just like that.

Kyle belly crawled back to his side of the 'camp'.

John kept his watch. He had a lot to think about. Somewhere to their west, not more than a few miles was their house, until Sarkissian tried blowing up Cameron, and then Cameron blew up the house. He had witnessed the devastation of L.A. first hand and now he saw the desolation of North Hollywood. He understood, now that he had seen the future through his mother's eyes, and she had seen it through Kyle's. A soldier, fighting on the frontlines. Their time together had been short why would he have told her about the world beyond the war? Now John got to see that world, and John saw nothing. Not a deer, not a raccoon, certainly no metal. Well, there was the one behind his ear, he could almost forget it. It felt like a piece of gauze bandage. It was malleable but he could feel his skin tug at it, if he moved. It was very strange. There was a sound. He looked.

Kyle was waking Jorge and Dalia. Dalia took John's spot: "I thought I heard something bark out there." He told her.

Dalia nodded, "Coyote."

John looked at Kyle.

"Wolves howl, and are mostly active at dawn and dusk."

"And dogs?" John asked.

"They don't make any sounds at all, they don't bark until they want you to run. By then it's already too late." Dalia said over her shoulder as she settled in. She said it with a finality that, frankly, scared the crap out of John. He crawled into the sleeping bag and stared at the netting and the grey overcast beyond.

"John. John." He woke; he had a rather disturbing dream about Chihuahuas that didn't bark. He was glad that Kyle woke him up. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he changed places with Dalia. Two hours later they changed again. This time he woke up without any help.

Jorge and Dalia were taking down the net. He folded up his sleeping bag. Kyle handed him the other.

It was their third night; they were in the mountains now. Their pace had been painfully slow in the suburbs. The basic design of urban sprawl was against them. There were vacant, ruined, and toppled buildings but they were separated by broad expanses of unkempt and shrubby lawns. There was little in the way of cover, most especially from directly overhead. Now having crossed into what had been protected lands during John's time, now out right wilderness, it was arduous. The four of them were almost on top of each other. Kyle had said that this was part of the old Angeles national forest. Their sight lines were almost nonexistent, at least along their line of march. They kept to game trails and valleys. They 'trended' north, their route was circuitous. Up one unnamed valley, across another, then back down a third. They followed ridges and valleys careful not to break the skyline. Despite all the switch backs they were essentially paralleling the Angeles Forest Highway. Which didn't go straight through either, It was roughly 20 miles through the forest. If things went well they might make it in three nights. In the city they did 20 miles in a night, granted that was a 'good' night.

The rules were slightly different here. Here stealth outweighed speed. Their pace was much slower. They spent a lot of time stopped and listening. With some frequency Kyle would halt them, and consult with Jorge. John sensed very early on that the runners were a lot less confident in the 'woods' then they were in the city. John noticed something that he had been missing, but only on a subconscious level. The sky was beginning to pale; Jorge and Kyle were debating a pair of camp sites. John and Dalia were keeping watch, when he heard it. "Check-check-check-check!" it was harsh and raucous. He turned his head. There it was a large bird it was white across the chest, blue in the face and grey across its back. It looked at them from a hundred feet away, and let go another call. "Check-check-check-check!" It was in a scrubby oak that seemed stunted for its age. John could tell its age because of its 'lean' it was pointed a few degrees off of north. Most of the trees around did that. At least the ones that were old enough. The older trees, the ones that bore the brunt of J-day's blast were shattered and torn; they reminded him of tornado damage he had seen in Kansas, though without the scorch marks. "Check-check-check-check!" it called out one more time. Since he was young he had always had a fascination with birds. He was glad to see that some of them had survived.

Dalia leaned close: "it's a bird, a Scrub..."

"... Jay. Yeah I know." He finished. "Just haven't seen one in a while."

"A while." She repeated. She gave him a look, like someone trying to think where John could be from where he might have seen a Scrub Jay. "You know," Dalia continued. "This is the closest I've ever seen one to the city."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

There was a short, sharp whistle. They turned, and Kyle waved them over.

Their camp was under a dead conifer. They hung the netting from the tree's trunk, and slept beneath it. They had been sleeping in the open now for 4 days. He and Kyle always took first watch. They woke before sunset, certainly before twilight. At first he thought it might have just been a weather front passing through, but it never rained. After 4 days with no change he began to think that this is what it was like. The dawns and dusks had a reddish tint. The sky seemed somehow hazed, not the normal L.A. smog, but something else. The sky wasn't entirely blue, and the sun seemed somehow shimmery and distant. He could look at it almost directly with little in the way of glare or discomfort. Not surprisingly, he had taken an interest in nuclear war and it's theoretical after affects. Was this the 'nuclear winter'? It was cool and dry. He had no idea what month it was. He would have to figure that out. By the time he came to that decision his watch was over.

Jorge was 5 meters ahead. Dalai about 5 meters behind. The scrub was only chest high. They kept their eyes open. John was watching the top of the ridge on their right. Kyle, the left. The starlight was bright enough to cast shadows. It was like the desert that way. They stopped. John crouched. Kyle went up to talk to Jorge. Dalia came up beside him, still watching their back trail. There was gap in the valley wall to their right.

"Pegasus" he said, with a smile.

"What?"

"That is the constellation Pegasus." He nodded towards their east.

"Oh."

Kyle came back. Beyond him John could see Jorge watching them. "Mountain Lion."

"Here?" Dalia hissed.

"These _are_ the mountains." Kyle reminded them.

"Sonofabitch."

"What do we do?" John asked.

Kyle looked at Dalia. "We stay calm. We be patient. There is water right over there," he gestured to the left of their path. "Likely he was just getting a drink."

"This is a 'game' trail. They hunt game trails." Dalia's voice was rising.

"Yes, and we are making a 'lot' of noise on this game trail. Let's get moving."

Dalia stayed close may be 2 meters back, for the rest of the night. They made camp as the sky started to brighten. As he and Kyle sat watch, he began to think. The thoughts were hardly pleasant. During their nightly marches the lows were probably in the lower 50s may be upper 40s. The daytime highs didn't seem to get much above middle 60s; they certainly weren't getting much into the 70s. Those temperatures, even estimates like they were, were easily 15-20 degrees cooler than they ought to be. He didn't want to think about what that might entail, but he little else to think on. With nothing of import, he thought about why he was here, in the future. Weaver had tracked John Henry to Long Beach. What were they doing there? Would Skynet be based out of Long Beach? No, he would pick somewhere more central.

Cameron sat at glass top table staring blankly, almost serenely, at its surface. It was like a photograph in his head. He could see the keyboard. The bloody switchblade. The precisely cut flap of skin and hair. The empty coltan lined hole that had pulled the earth from beneath his feet. He brushed that thought aside. He had seen a Scrub Jay that was a good sign. Birds tend to be sensitive to disruptions in their ecosystems. So the mere fact that birds were once again reentering an area they had fled...

"You're not perfect. You're a machine." No, he hadn't meant it that way. Stop it. He had more important things to worry about. Like why this 'old man' wanted to see him. And why did the resistance seem to defer to him. Why, if he was so important, was he kept so far out of reach...

"You said it yourself John." He did not understand how but he was certain that he heard her voice crack. "I'm just a machine." He wiped his eyes, on his sleeve; he wanted to blame the ever present dust. Which, of course, this far from the city wasn't really a factor. He blamed himself. He felt the cool air dry the tears. _She_ gave him her chip! _She_ left him.

"I'm sorry John." Endlessly repeated. He set his jaw, and glared at the stunted new growth, the shattered tree falls, and the dead rotted roots of a Judgment Day more than a decade past. His rifles stock creaked against his shoulder. He was angry. He was confused. He was a blubbering fool. He was a carpenter crying over a beloved hammer.

"John." Softly, quietly, from behind him. It was Kyle.

He coughed into his dad's sleeve, to clear his throat. "Yeah." He still sounded hoarse.

"You okay? You seem a little... tense." He could hear the sound from across their 'camp' as his dad, turned to look at him. He could feel his eyes on him, from ten feet away.

"I'm fine. Just a little spooked, I guess, from that mountain lion." John didn't turn. He kept his gaze locked on the tree and shrub filled valley. It sounded lame, even to him.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He set his shoulders. Looked out into the grey woods. Cameron. "I have sensation," she said once. "I feel." The glow, of a distant and diffuse sun, was too dim to answer any of his questions.

"It's the quiet." He heard his father say. "I gives you time to think."

There was a pause, John almost turned to look.

"And the solitude. It's worse when it's just two of you, and you sleep by turns, because then you _are_ alone. And when you think and you're alone you think about who isn't there and why. Then you think about all that is lost, all that is gone."

He did turn then and look. In their tiny camp barely big enough for four people to lie prone in. He wondered if his mother had ever explicitly told him about this side of his father. He was intense certainly. He nodded his head, his father nodded back. She once told him that he had 'kind eyes'. He wondered about that. Was that what he saw in those eyes, now? That someone, that anyone who had lived through what his father must have lived through, could be willing or even able to risk even an ounce of empathy for a stranger. Was that what his mother meant?

They set out again at twilight. At moon rise, they heard them. Wolves. They were howling at the growing moon. Kyle directed them to a small rise, may be 15 meters above the valley floor. The rise was almost conical; the top was studded with boulders around it the ground was flat with a broad area devoid of vegetation. It looked like an old river bed. John liked it; with only the four of them they wouldn't be able to defend a wide area. They howled and howled the sound came from all directions. One from the south, then almost due west, another pair from the east. John thought he might have seen one, at the top of the ridge that bent off towards the north. It was unnerving. At one point they seemed close perhaps 50 meters off. After nearly an hour and a half of howling they moved off towards the south and west. They waited for another half an hour.

"Us?" Asked Jorge.

"Probably, haven't seen any other animals around." Kyle was looking up at the top of the ridge, as if half expecting them to come charging down. "It was a big pack to 15 may be 20 of them. Dalia? Stay close." They moved out.

On the third night in the mountains, the valley opened up to a broad uneven plain. Off to their right was a cluster of burned and partially collapsed buildings. John stared at it.

"Palmdale." He glanced at Kyle.

"Allison's going to be pissed." He turned towards Dalia.

"She hates coming up here." Back to Kyle.

"Everybody hates coming up here." They all looked at Jorge. "Let's get this over with." He took point.

"Why do you come up here anyway?" John asked as they started walking bearing to the west of the ruins.

"It's the runners. To the pass their tests, they run up here and back."

"Singly?"

"No usually in pairs."

"And Allison is a runner?"

"Yeah, but she wants 'tech-com', though she may end up in K-9."

"She _wants_ tech-com?" They stopped at the edge of the road; the shrubs had grown right up to it. Grasses had come up through it.

Kyle grinned. "Yeah. Everybody wants 'tech-com." They waited until Jorge signaled. They darted across the street and didn't talk again until they got to Lancaster.

If anything the air here was drier still. The nights chill more noticeable. John wished they were running. They stayed clear of the buildings. Kyle warned him about traps and trip wires. Some humans still live up here. It was a hard life living off the land, hunting and trapping. They were still close enough that the occasional Skynet patrol would fly up and burn them out. They and the human resistance had little to do with each other. They stayed to the west, almost in the hills, and then turned north, eventually back east.

They camped just outside of Lancaster. They entered the town that night.

It used to be a convenience store. The windows which faced west were gone. The shelves had been pushed, haphazardly, against the back wall. It occurred to John that no human did this. The wind did this. Like the canopy outside, pushed back against the station. He could imagine the wind whipping up the valley, smashing into Palmdale flowing out across Lancaster on its way to the desert. He was impatient. He didn't understand why they had to stop and eat so close to their destination.

Kyle noticed. They all noticed. They were still towards the back with the toppled shelves. John was crouched next to the doorway. He could hear them.

Dalia: He doesn't know.

Jorge: How can he not know?

Dalia, again: He doesn't. He didn't know about the 'run'. Every tunnel rats know about the 'run'.

Jorge: He knows. He has to know.

Dalia: Kyle? Kyle!

Kyle: He doesn't know.

Jorge: How? That doesn't make any sense.

Dalia: He has a right to know.

Jorge: How doesn't he know?

Kyle:

Dalia: We have to tell him.

He heard the tread of Kyle's boots. "John." He turned. Kyle was at the countertop. He went. "Do you know where we are?"

"Lancaster." Dalia and Jorge were still talking. (Dalia: did you see him with the wolves? He didn't so much as flinch.)

"Do you know what's in Lancaster?" (Jorge: Stone cold. I thought this man is 'tech-com' material for sure.)

That's all you know about Lancaster?" (Jorge: You didn't see him with the Mountain Lion...)

"Yes." (Jorge: ... you didn't see his eyes. I've seen more fear in... in metal.)

Kyle waved the others over. "John doesn't know."

"What?" Jorge.

Dalia just nodded. "John... "

"Wait." Kyle cut her off. "First the rules."

They could smell it a block away. It had been a storage facility, once. The garage doors had been pulled off. They were using the storm drains as sewers. Fires dotted the complex. The smell of burning meat did nothing to hide the stench. At the gate-less entrance, Jorge puked. John quickly reviewed the rules. Stick to the center of the drive. Do not touch anything. Do not touch anyone. Do not allow anyone to touch you. Look down at all intersections (that's where the 'open' drains were). Talk, only, to the old man. Leave as soon as possible.

Of course, the old man's unit was at the back. It was one of the bigger ones. His next door neighbor was a priest. Across the way lived a pair of nuns. They stopped in front of his unit. It was like a gaping black maw. Kyle leaned towards it. "Old man! Old man!" The priest woke up; his unit was lit by a candle. He looked at them and smiled. With difficulty he stood up. As he passed he waved. Dalia, on the far side of Kyle flinched. John saw that the priest saw, but chose to ignored it. John also saw, that he had no fingers. "Wake up. You have visitors. Come on now." He entered the darkness. There was coughing, the deep wet kind of coughing. He heard a creaking sound like old rusty springs, then a loud squeal like a bad bearing. He saw light reflecting off of a chromed metal frame. It was heavily pitted. It was a wheelchair. The stir ups were missing. It didn't matter the legs ended just below the knees. There was a smell. John wanted to gag. He wondered again about the logic of stopping and eating before coming here.

The voice was nasal, extremely so. There was a wet gurgling sound as he spoke. 'Who ith it?" There was anger there. It was after midnight. "Kyle? Kyle! How ah you?" A wet sucking sound. "It hath bin tho long. What bwingth you up thith way?" All his 't's were soft, and sounded more like 'the' than 'top'.

"I brought someone you wanted to meet."

The wheelchair creaked. Fingerless hands pawed at the arm rests for purchase. The 'old man' leaned forward. John jerked in surprise. His head, when it cleared the deep shadow of the storage unit, was bald there were patches of thin wispy hair. What hair there was, was long and white, it reached down to his shoulders. The bare scalp was discolored as if from a fire. There were no ears or eyebrows. His left eye was milky white and oozing. The priest leaned out as well his hands at the other's shoulders to keep him from tumbling out of the chair. He had no nose. The lips were cracked and pealing around edges of mouth that held no teeth. The skin was pallid and stiff. There was a wet sucking sound. An inhalation, he realized. The head swiveled bringing the working eye towards him, it widened. A line of spittle ran down from the cracked lips.

"Thahn? Thahn Connaw?" The lips spread, cracking, more spittle, more blood. More of the wet sucking sounds. His arms were bouncing up and down on the wheelchairs armrests. He crashed back against the wheelchair with enough force to lift the front wheels off the ground. John thought he was having a seizure. He looked at the priest who had an almost pleasant smile on this face. Then he realized the 'old man' was laughing. "Iths me, Thahn! Iths me! Iv been waithing faw you!" There was a pause, the uncomfortable sort. Like when someone walks up to you and acts like they know you. Only you don't remember them, but this doesn't happen to John, he always remembers. He wasn't gathering his thoughts. He was warring with them. First, there was the wash of relief. That, here, for the first time in more than a week he wasn't alone. Then, as cool and bleak as the dawn, came the realization that this was not the future he had been told about. That this wasn't the man that Derek knew.

"I know, and I'm sorry, it took me so long."

"You know who I yam?"

"Of course, I do. How could I ever forget you." He said with feeling. "You're Martin. Martin Beddel."

More wet laughter. The Kyle and the others went back to the intersection. Even the priest, set the brakes on the wheelchair and went back to his storage unit. They talked. John first standing then crouched down, finally sitting cross legged in the middle of a driveway, of a storage unit/leper colony. Talking to a man who had no face.

Martin told him, in his palate ravaged lisp, of the nightmare of Judgment Day. He told him how he and two of his West Point classmates, and their families had cleverly scheduled a 'camping trip' for the week of Judgment Day. They were stationed at Fort Hood. The three of them (Martin, Sam and Lemuel) had had 6 months to prepare their 'camp site'. On their days off they had built an earth and wood shelter largely underground. Its location was supposed to be secure. Judgment Day came with confusion and confession. Outrage and anger soon followed. Sam Williston and his wife were arguing, just outside their shelter when they were attacked. Lucy was cut down immediately. Sam caught some shrapnel in his legs, but made it back into the bunker. There must have been a dozen of them, they wore gray coveralls. They had 'spirit' but little training. The fight didn't last long. They fixed up Sam, buried Lucy, took the weapons off their dead and walked to Abilene. Three days later the bombs fell again. See, he said to John, Judgment Day wasn't just one day; it was almost 2 weeks of almost random bombardment. There were eleven of them, half of them had serious flash burns, and two were flash blinded. They kept moving. They couldn't risk being out in the open if there were another attack.

There were only three this time, wearing the gray coveralls. Better odds but no cover. Lemuel's sister Esther was hit. She lingered four days. He lost Carl, his 2 year old boy, there. Martin paused. He seemed to be thinking.

John reached out to him, but Martin waved him off saying: "Ah woot theiw wules." John could only nod; he had many questions but wanted Martin to finish before he asked them.

They killed the three 'grays'. Took their weapons. They were a day's hike from Abilene, when the bombs fell a third time. He gestured to his balding discolored head. Martin himself had been blinded. He couldn't see for two days, sometime during those feverish days, he lost Paula to dehydration. They had water; she had just been losing it faster than she could drink it. The burns, he explained. Lemuel lost a brother, Philemon.

"I'm sorry," was all he could think to say. He told John it was ok. Martin wheezed and struggled on. It had been nearly fifteen years. He had mourned them. He had avenged them. He had dismantled a lot of metal. He grinned his cracked and leaking grin.

He continued: When he could see again he looked at the crater that was had been Abilene. He couldn't understand why someone would 'nuke' Abilene. There was nothing there. With Abilene gone their 'fall back position' was in the California desert.

John nodded, of course it was. It was only later. That John realized the implications of Martin's statement.

They gathered what supplies they could find, and started walking. In New Mexico the bombs fell again. They were air bursts and far enough away that they did little more than dazzle them and leave after images, and splashes, of color when they blinked. But dehydration from burns and infections, coupled with a hike through a desert are not a good mix, they were down to six now. Lemuel, never 'Lem' "his mother named him Lemuel, not 'Lem'" had lost all but three siblings. Martin and Sam were already alone. After nearly 5 weeks they were in Arizona, there were only the three of them (Martin, Sam, and Lemuel), when some resistance fighters found them.

It was in the desert that he met Sarah. John sat up at the mention of her name. Martin chuckled wetly. She dispersed us, told us to teach everyone we could find, everything we knew. Sam was sent south. Lemuel went north. He was sent west. Los Angeles. There he met a bunch of would be 'warlords'. He tried talking to them. Wills, Perry, Jones, Pilar, Unger and Bach, listened most of them are dead. But then so are most of their killers. We started playing them against each other. We had them down to seven "leaders" three of which supported you. The rest did this to me. He held up his hands. For two years after he got leprosy he continued traveling. He continued teaching. Then even that became impossible. He glanced down at his legs. Without antibiotics disease was a killer again. This camp, he gestured broadly, was one of the first things he set up. It used to have guards, to keep people in, but now they just give them food, and no one wants to leave.

The telling had been as hard on Martin, as the listening had been on John. He could hear the wheezing of his breath. It wasn't solely because his speech was difficult to understand; in fact that was probably the easiest part. What was hard was talking to a man he had known the prime of his youth. A hero who had once upon a time given his life to save his own and now ruined as he was, he still had not given up, he still fought. Could John 'measure up'? Despite his misgivings. Despite Martin's obvious exhaustion. There were questions that needed answers.

John's first question was asked almost to himself: "Why Abilene?" We had laid up some supplies there that would have helped, he said. "No, not you. Skynet." But what Martin said didn't ring true either. Why spend 6 months building a shelter, but keep your supplies a four day walk away? Was the shelter out of the way? Difficult to access with a car or truck? Or was it the supplies themselves? Could the supplies be of such a prodigious amount that they were hard to move? If so how could three soldiers in the US Army afford to 'lay up' so much materiel? Or was it because, John reasoned further, the shelter was only temporary. Abilene was going to be their home. Their base. Then he thought, why not go straight to Abilene? Because Martin, didn't want to attract attention to it, but he already had. He looked at Martin. Martin had lied. There _was_ something in Abilene. There was something in Abilene, and Skynet found out about it, and destroyed it. He considered pressing the matter, but he decided to let it go. If Skynet didn't want it around then it would only have helped the resistance, and that was good enough for John.

"Was Paula her? The girl, the runner, you told me about at Presidio Alto? He looked away, near as John could tell, surprised by the change in direction. He breathed. Yes, he lisped, finally. Yes, it was her. He seemed please that John had remembered.

"Was it radiation poisoning?" More than likely. All the symptoms where there. Fever. Vomiting. Nausea. Death. It's also possible that a saline drip and antibiotics might have saved many of them.

"Why didn't you stop?" They had found us. Twice. Even through the lisp John could hear the venom. They knew where we were going or were somehow tracking us. They _knew_, John. They _knew_. He had been betrayed, thought John. Someone close to him had turned coat, and been poorly compensated. Then John realized something else. The day the 'grays' attacked them, and killed Charley. They had sent, two after Derek and Cameron. One for his mother, and two for John and Charley. John didn't think he had an over inflated opinion of himself, but they had sent three times as many 'grays' after Martin. Why was Martin so important? And _if_ he was so important why not send metal? Because they were still dropping bombs. They had to protect the cyborgs from EMP. He looked up at Martin again.

"There were no more attacks after Abilene?" No. John nodded. They had put a tracking device in his mother. Perhaps there had been one _in_ someone in Martin's group. May be the EMP got to it, or maybe it's in a shallow grave nearby the perfectly round lake Abilene.

Then the phrase 'a four day walk away' bumped into something. "You weren't supposed to walk to Abilene, were you?"

Martin grinned. He brought his bandaged fingerless right hand up, and tapped the opening where his nose used to be. He winked his good eye, and then pointed the stump at him. They had had a pair of jeeps. Surplus USPS things. They were ancient. They had no electronics. To be safe they had unplugged the batteries, but they had left them outside, the shrapnel in Sam's legs had been from the grenades they had rolled under them. Which knocked both of them out. They drove in, but had to walk out.

There was a 'cough' from the priests 'unit'. Martin's head shifted towards the sound.

"Wait, how is _she_?" John asked, knowing the interview was over. He didn't know. He hadn't seen or heard from her in more than 6 years. She had cut him off. Not because he was sick. She had used him for two years while he was sick.

Martin finished quickly. He gave him names. People to look for: Col. Perry he was a good one. He told him about another priest. He had a large cell in the Latino sections of LA. Those two think 'big'. He told him. Find them. The priest returned. John stood. Martin looked at him. Almost as an aside he said that John hadn't changed at all.

"It hasn't even been a year, Martin." Was all he could think to say. Martin shook his head. When Derek taught me, I was a kid. He smiled, then: When I taught Derek, he was a kid. The priest released the wheelchairs brakes. He said that Martin needed his rest. John could hear the screech of the wheelchair as it retreated into the shadows of the 'unit'. "Waith." The voice hissed from the darkness. "Thawn, you neeth to know this. Iths Aughust. Aughust eightheenth twenthy twenthy fibe."

John only nodded. He had figured out August the other night.

John was confused. He had more questions now, than answers. He walked back to the others. He looked at Kyle. "I need to meet Colonel Perry."

The three traded a significant look. "General Perry." Kyle corrected. "We will have to go to Headquarters for that. And we'll need to talk to Derek."

"Why Derek?" They started to walk to the camps exit.

"Chain of command," Kyle said it like a curse word.


	3. Chapter 3

Livin' In The Future

Chapter 3

John-

He had been here, in the future, for 1 1/2 weeks. In that time he understood how much his departure from the past had changed the future, but he had little idea how the future was changing him. For five days now he had been plagued with cramps, and runny stool. His first thought was dysentery, but no one else seemed ill, and back at the Zeira Corp camp they all ate and drank from communal cookware. Here in the 'field' they ate MREs, and drank from the same streams. He had thought that someone, somewhere had taught them good sanitation, and now he knew who that had been.

What John didn't know was that the bacteria that gave him the acne that had plagued him during his early teens was extinct in this time. The last colonies were found in the sebaceous glands of his skin and these were failing. The dust that had been so pervasive in the city, with its cocktail of radioisotopes was inimical to these organisms. Something similar was happening to him on the inside. The 'dust' was everywhere, in the air, the water, the food. Food grown after Judgment Day had the same radioisotopes incorporated in them. When they topped off their canteens and their gallon jugs, they were there. This heightened background radiation was taking its toll. His internal flora and fauna, the bacteria resident in his gut were dying, though there would be enough survivors to keep him alive, but their ranks were being decimated, almost literally. Already his hair and nails were longer, this new growth was distinctly more radioactive then the tissues produced before his arrival. John was changing.

Heading back they skirted Palmdale, again sticking to low hills to its west, but now John knew, or rather understood why. The people there trapped food for the people in Martin's camp. Likely they were sick as well. Back down in the valley, he discovered why the 'runners' so hated this 'route'. If they thought it was hard coming up, and it was hardly a cake walk, then heading back home was a nightmare. The trouble was the forest: the trees, and the shrubs. Most that had survived had been blown over or at least bent. Most of these pointed north. It was like walking through a living or mostly living abatis. They were walking into the forest's teeth.

The shattered and dead trees were, if anything, even more of a hindrance. They made noise. Again they stuck to game trails, but there are very few deer nearly as tall as Kyle or John. To John it seemed as if, every branch, every twig, every unearthed root, snagged at his clothing, at his pack. John understood plainly why they had no machete. Its presence would encourage chopping which would just increase, manifold, the noise they were creating. They progressed perhaps 5 miles the first night. John sat his watch wishing for a welders mask just to keep the branches out of his face. Their camp was sullen and quiet they were covered in scratches and riddled with splinters. With their progress so slowed they would have to watch their water consumption. At their current rate it would take them twice as long to get to the same water they did on their way up. Assuming they didn't slow down any more.

They slowed down even more. Up the valley they walked sometimes crouched. Down the valley they crouched and sometimes crawled. At one point they had crawled for most of a mile and took a much needed respite where they lay. Their passage allowed John time to think. He had found himself trying not to do that. But there were too many things not to think about for him to ignore them all. One of the things was the silence. On their way up, it had been silent was well, there had been the one bird. But they had also seen signs of other animals, deer spore, mountain lion tracks, and the wolves. They had traveled in the past two nights nearly 8 miles with nothing. At one point he thought he smelled wood smoke. At one of their very brief stops he mentioned this to Kyle. Who just nodded at Jorge's look.

They continued in a back breaking crouch. There was little to see. It was dark, and John had to pay close attention to the foliage that was constantly trying to stab him. They stopped. Kyle signaled them forward. Kyle was on one knee ahead of him on his belly was Jorge. Kyle pointed to his eyes: Look. Then he pointed out over Jorge. John saw a can, blackened perhaps with soot, hanging from a branch, a length of string ran from it down along the trunk of the leaning pine to its base, where it cut across their path; 8 feet in front of Jorge. Dalia turned around and kept the palm of her hand on John's back. He would trust her to keep an eye out for any tripwires they might have missed and failed to trigger on their way forward. John kept an eye on Kyle and Jorge to make sure they didn't get too far ahead of them. They retreated back to the north end of this valley.

They were still well within the trees, crouched low, when the tree trunk beside Jorge splintered. John heard the zip and whine of a passing round, as they went flat. At least two more rounds passed over their heads. Then John heard the crack-crack-crack, crack-crack of a weapons report. Without a word Dalia took point. Sloppy, John thought, very amateur to fire so many rounds at a distant, an uncertain target. They split. Dalia and John fell back to the north along their original path. Kyle and Jorge, first went east, and then seemed to move parallel to them. At least, John could hear someone off that way. John pointed Dalia to a shallow depression. It offered them protection and a good view down either side of the ridge that was now to their front. Dalia nodded. John watched almost due south. Dalia watched south and east.

Silence. A shift in the wind brought the smell of wood smoke. 'Smoke' he said. Dalia nodded. Along the top of the ridge John saw two shadows break the skyline, they were silhouetted in the starlight. He couldn't make out colors or facial features he couldn't even tell what direction they were facing. Though he was absolutely certain that neither Kyle nor Jorge would ever do anything like that. He brought his weapon to bear on them. They seemed to be talking. More than half to himself he said: 'I wish I could hear what they were saying.'

There was a brief, sharp pain, on the left side of his head at the base of his ear. If not for the weapon in his hands he would have reached for it. It was like a bug bite, or an injection. Except that you normally don't get 'shots' in the side of your head. But that was not all. Suddenly, he could 'hear'. Suddenly, he could hear everything. Their voices were angry, their accents heavy. One of them had Martin's leprosy damaged lisp. He could hear Dalia breathing beside him. Then he heard the almost thunderous crackle of leaf litter and rotted twigs as she moved her leg into a more comfortable position. He wasn't certain, but he _thought_ he could hear her pulse. He understood that the 'metal bandage' was somehow enhancing his hearing. He was certain, now that the two men ahead of him were not Kyle or Jorge. He brought his weapon up to his shoulder and almost deafened himself when the stock of his rifle brushed against his father's coat. Sotto voce, he said 'turn it down'. It occurred to him then, that the two men were 'supposed' to be seen. They were there to drive their 'quarry' away from the ridge, toward the 'hunters' in the valley.

"John? Is that you talking?" Dalia asked from his left. The volume was normal so he figured that the 'thing' understood him.

"Huh? No. I have two hostiles. I have clear Take them?"

"What?" He heard her turn to look. "You mean up on the ridge? How do you know? How _can_ you know?"

Great. Thanks, Dalia. Just like on the range he thought. 60 odd meters, the wind was in his face. He squeezed. Crack! As the weapon came back down, He fired again. Crack! "Two down" he said. On a certain level it bothered him that Cameron could not have shown less emotional about those two deaths.

"John! Jorge and Kyle are still out there! How..."

"Watch your side!" He hissed as quietly as he could.

She complied.

There was more gunfire to their far right. It was uncoordinated, and sporadic. No, he thought the two on the ridge had been the hunters. These were the ones to drive the prey. Two shadows cut across the base of the ridge to their front. One figure paused, and then caught up with the other. They moved in intervals. That was Kyle and Jorge. He flipped his weapons selector to 'burst'. It didn't have an 'auto' setting. He aimed several degrees behind the tree that the figure had paused beneath. Mostly, to protect his night vision from the flash. Boom! It wasn't the spectacular fireball, from the movies, but it was a sizable blast nonetheless. Something with limbs spun through the air over the trees. He aimed behind the blast and fired three short bursts. He waited. He saw the muzzle flashes; three or four. Then he heard the reports. Semi autos or they were conserving their ammunition. The flashes had been long; they were firing almost perpendicular to John's position. At first he was elated; they didn't know that he and Dalia were here. Then he realized they were still after Kyle and Jorge. He felt a horrible twisting in his gut. They were trying to kill his father! He fired three more bursts. Reloaded. Two muzzle flashes. He fired three more burst. What he wouldn't give for a 40mm grenade launcher! A single muzzle flash, smaller, different angle. He fired another two bursts. Silence.

"Someone's coming" Dalia's voice was still shaky. There was a short sharp whistle. Dalia whistled back. John kept watch on his side. Despite the need to look to see if Kyle was ok.

Jorge lay down next to him. He was breathing heavy. "Was that you guys? You saved our hides!" He patted him on the shoulder.

Kyle knelt in the lowest part of the depression. He looked down both sides of the ridge. "Quiet. I thought the rally point was last night's camp?"

"I was taking him there. Then John found this spot..."

John glanced over his shoulder at Kyle who was looking at back of Dalia head. It was a disapproving look that said: "So the 'civilian' is in charge?"

He looked down at John, looking up at him. The face softened and, almost smiled. "Good ground." He nodded at John. John couldn't keep his face from beaming. He looked out at the woods. He felt ridiculous. Like he was a puppy getting a pat on the head for peeing outside. Beside him Jorge was collecting his 'brass'. Some were still hot. "Ow! Did you get the ones up on the ridge?"

"Yeah," John didn't take his eyes off the woods to their front and right.

"Nice shooting."

"Thanks. Does this happen often?" Out of the corner of his eye John saw Jorge, who was still picking through the weeds for his spent casings pause and look up at Kyle.

"No." Kyle said.

"So what's changed?" He turned and asked Kyle directly.

"I don't know. But we hurt them tonight. Well, you hurt them. They'll be angry. We'll probably have to backtrack to find another way around them. Let's go."

"What about them?"

"Them?"

"Out there."

"We leave them."

"There might be survivors."

"We leave them. Come on. Let's go." They went.

So they backtracked past their previous night's camp. John wondered about their SOPs was the previous camp _always_ the rally point? Was that rule only applicable 'out here'. During the 'move' of Derek's base camp. He didn't know rally points then either. From the stand point of situational security, it made sense, but if he were ever isolated then he'd be in serious trouble. He also noticed that Dalia was lingering farther behind them than usual. They turned west. They were skirting the edge of the 'Angeles National Forest' heading almost due west. They cut across a large valley off at the far end John thought he could discern an overgrown road, possibly some buildings.

They crossed another open valley, and then were back in the hills, the valleys, the bent and toppled trees. They began to bear towards south. Their progress slowed again. John felt better about this. There was sign of game here. Deer spore behind them. Smaller game trails crossing the trail they followed. They stopped. John cleaned his weapon. When he had it back together Kyle got them moving again. Dalia had not yet appeared. John looked him a question but got nothing by way of response. At their second stop Dalia joined them, late. John saw her first. Kyle looked at her as she joined them. Obviously, tired, she slumped to the ground. "Clear?" He asked. She could only nod. Jorge handed her his canteen. John returned his gaze to their back trail.

They topped off their water, but were starting to run low on MRE's. John noticed that no one else seemed to notice. "How much farther", he asked Kyle.

"Another night or two and we'll be back in civilization."

John had to stop himself from laughing.

They spent rest of the night crawling. They traveled a gut wrenching 2.5 miles. Jorge joked that he could see their previous camp. Dalia offered to take everyone's watch since she slept the whole way here. They ate. When the breathing of the two runners slowed, John looked at Kyle. Who crawled over, and leaned his head in close: "What's up?"

"Three days," he said as softly.

Kyle just nodded.

John woke. There was a rumbling sound like thunder, though distant. Part of him wondered why he wasn't wet. Another thought high explosives. He propped himself up on his elbows. Jorge and Dalia were still on watch. Dalia and Kyle were watching off to the east. Jorge was almost watching west.

Jorge, the closest to him, signed 'silence'.

John nodded, rolled onto his belly and crawled towards Kyle.

Kyle leaned close. "Skynet."

John mouthed: "What?"

"Aerial HKs, two may be three. They've been at it for more than an hour."

"How," John mouthed silently.

"Last night's firefight. Skynet has spies everywhere. Listening. Living above ground is risky. Go back to sleep."

John tried. He lay back stared at the pallid sky hearing the rumble, like a drier full of shoes down in the basement. It was a pretty typical dream for John. Someone was chasing him. He was running. Always running. Rarely fast enough. Sometimes in the wrong direction. Sometimes it was his mother's voice. Sometimes it was Cameron's. Sometimes it was the clipped accent of the unnamed terminator of his youth. This time he was running through the woods. There were wolves howling. Then she was there. He could see the gleam of the staples in her cheek. She had the same empty look she had on his birthday.

"John," she said. He saw the gun as she brought it up. He ducked as the barrel passed him. He watched her put to her head. "I feel."

"No!" He went to grab it. It went off.

"Cameron!" He went to her side. He was pawing through her hair, feeling around for the wound. He found it, a perfectly round hole in her head, in her hair. "Her chip," he heard himself say. "It's gone." She was sitting in an office chair in the woods. The wolves had surrounded them.

One wolf said, "He didn't take her chip she gave it to him."

Another said: "John," and gestured with its snout behind him.

Speared on a tree branch was a note: "I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry, John."

"Coming James," The first wolf asked.

This last wolf growled at John, then lunged.

He woke. The sun was setting, they were breaking camp.

They were moving, perhaps a mile, mile and a half. Dalia was late again. Jorge was getting worried. She came in, not from their back trail but from the south. "We're being followed."

"How many," asked Kyle.

"12-15?"

"ETA?"

"I took them out to the 'open' valley. They will have to come back in through the trees. Fifteen, twenty minutes."

John gestured. There's high ground over there. They all looked at him.

Kyle gave him an approving smile, and then nodded. We catch them as they come up."

The two runners looked aghast. "And if, if they aren't dispersed?" Asked Jorge.

"The ridge curves," answered Kyle. "We pick off their leaders from the front, and enfilade the survivors, from there." Kyle sent John and Dalia to the curving northern ridge. Kyle and Jorge continued on to the taller, but shallower ridge to the east. They would be separated by most of a half mile, of open terrain. Neither runner would be risked to carry messages back and forth. The back side of either ridge was unknown to them, and so there was no guarantee of support. John found shelter less than a third of the way up the ridge he placed Dalia 5 meters down and 10 meters to his right. They had a good view of their 'rest stop'. The sky went pink with the rising sun.

They were settled for perhaps 5 minutes when Dalia whistled him. He looked she signed back '930'. John turned to look at his 9 o' clock and saw the flash of reflected light. Kyle and Jorge were in position then. Jorge had worried that the 'hill people' might come up along this ridge. So Dalia was watching that open flank. John had his doubts, if we had 'hurt' them as bad as it sounded they would be coming for revenge, he expected them to come straight in, moving as fast as they could to catch us off guard.

Another sharp whistle, Dalia signed '2'.

John looked; their 'camp' was at about 1 o' clock. Just to north of it, he saw a figure. It moved warily. Another figure appeared well south of the first. The second moved into their site. This one waved, three more came up. The first two, John guessed, were 'scouts' they followed their trail east towards Kyle and Jorge. It was the 'obvious' trail the one they wanted them to take, it was the one with the shallower forgiving slope, and it was the one with trip wired explosives. They were less than a third of the way there, when they turned. They found John and Dalia's track. They hadn't had time to loop around the ridge, so they cut across the valley. This was the sheerer and steeper path, the harder path, but the one without the veteran soldier at its end, or the trip wire mines along its length. They were perhaps a third of the way to John and Dalia, when the second party arrived there were seven in this group. The first five retreated back to the others.

There were twelve now, they were in range of John and Dalia, but only at the extreme effective range of Kyle and Jorge. The first two were gesturing, John was about to ask the 'metal' to increase his hearing, when another five showed up, these also came from the south, also following Dalia's trail. Then there was a whistle. There was something different in it. John turned to look Dalia didn't need to sign anything this time. John brought his weapon up and fired. John rose to a crouch, and fired two more times. The first one, clutched the right side of his chest, spun dropped to his knees, then tumbled off the ridge. He skidded off the rocks and out of sight.

Dalia fired a burst, then a second. John watched the four remaining duck. They retreated onto themselves. John worked his way up slope. Something zipped passed him. Something else smashed against the rocky ridge face beside him. He felt the sting of the fragmented stone. This only encouraged him to climb faster. "Fire down into the valley!" He called out to Dalia. He dropped to one knee slipped his weapon into 'burst' mode, and fired.

The second 'hunter' stepped back into the third, in one hand he had his rifle by the barrel, and he was already dropping his weapons shattered stock. Their scared, John thought to himself. Another something zipped past him. Something snatched at his left sleeve, pulling his arm down, as he fired another burst. The second hunter was screaming his knee buckled under him. They were close enough that John could hear him. He had dropped the other half of his wrecked rifle and was clutching his wrecked leg. The third had long hair, and had slung his weapon to his shoulder he grabbed the wounded hunter under the armpits to pull him up, to get him out of the fight. He was bent almost double. Both of them were shielding John from the forth.

They were bunched up, John thought, I have them. He felt himself grin he stepped towards them and fired another burst. The third hunters head exploded into the chest of the second, he collapsed backward onto the feet of the fourth, his torso suddenly freed from the weight of his head, slammed back into that man's legs, tangling them. Blood and more solid pieces fountained up into forth hunter's chest. This last hunter almost threw his weapon and was screaming as he wiped at the gore in his face. John lined up his shot and fired another burst into his chest.

It was only then that he heard Dalia's almost frantic gunfire. Spray and pray, he thought.

"You... you killed them. All... all of them." She said without turning, as he came up beside her. She reloaded and continued firing. John wasn't sure she was even aiming.

He looked down there were a lot of them. They were in a long skirmish line. "Come on. We need to move, we are too exposed here." He could hear the crackle and pop of gunfire from down slope now. He grabbed Dalia. To their left was a line of trees, it was their fallback position. Their gear was there. He thought that if they could make it there it might screen them from the hunters. "Move!" Dust was kicking up around them, the shrubs twitched and shook. He could feel the impacts of splintered rock against his pant legs. There was almost a rain of twigs and leaves from above them.

The 'line' moved with them. But it moved too far. They had just gotten to the stand of trees when John saw the second farthest man on their left stumble and fall. John stumbled as well; something had almost pulled his right foot out from under him. They lay low in the leaf litter. Peeking up John saw one of the scouts gesturing to the ridge where Kyle and Jorge were. Two men were talking to the scout. One of these pointed to the taller, eastern ridge too. This time two 'hunters' stepped out of the line to fire on them. "Dalia" John said. "Those two men, the ones talking to the scout? Shoot at them."

Dalia was wild eyed, but she nodded. Her hands were trembling as she brought her weapon to her shoulder.

Something pinched John's ear. He winced in pain. There was a sound, above Dalai's sporadic gunfire. It was a mechanical sound. He touched her shoulder, she stopped shooting. Then, beneath the ringing in his ears, he could hear it, a strange humming sound. Like an engine?

"HK! It's an HK! Here! John, John it's an HK!"

Three explosions ripped across the hunter's line. Bodies were tossed around. Patches of dry grass began to burn some of the burning patches were the bodies.

Above them was a buzzing sound its tone changed as it flew passed. More explosions. The line scattered. Through the canopy John could make out a silver fuselage and short stubby swept back, wings. There seemed to be 'ducted' fans at the wing tips. There was a flash, bright enough to cast the shadow of the overhead branches down on them. Then a sound like metal sliding against metal. There were more explosions, down in the valley. The hill people ran. Twice as they re-crossed the valley heading south, the hunters tried to form up and fire at the HK. The HK broke these up. For twenty minutes the HK pursued them. They never had a chance. The explosions became more distant, about thirty minutes after the fight started it was over. John got binoculars out of his pack. He saw little in the way of movement.

"We can't stay here, the bodies..."

"Right," John agreed. "Will attract predators. Sleep for now, I'll take first watch."

"What about the rally point?"

"It's out in that field. Let Kyle and Jorge come and find us."

It was an hour passed sunrise when Kyle and Jorge arrived. They didn't want risk the valley either. They had walked around the curve of the ridge. Together they walked back their position. Retrieved their explosives, and then set out. They risked moving in daylight, only because they didn't want to be near this valley come twilight. They followed the ridge south, and then west as it curved back out. They stayed to the high ground knowing that the retreating hunters and their pursuing HK would be down in the valley.

The sunset was a gory red, John thought it looked like the horizon was on fire. They had gone perhaps 6 miles, following the ridge, straight line distance they were probably only 2 miles from the valley. They could hear the howls, already.

Kyle decided to march through the night. They made their way down to the valley, back down into the thicker scrub and trees. Their progress was slower, but their route was a lot less circuitous. They stopped two more times that night they could still hear the distant howling. They camped at dawn.

Their meal was quiet, none of the usual, soft spoken banter. Which was fine with John, he took the silence as an opportunity to strip and clean his weapon. He wanted to cleaner it sooner but didn't like the idea of being so close to a fight with a disassembled rifle. After eating the two runners went immediately to sleep. Kyle and John took first watch. John was exhausted. He had pulled all nighters before, even doubles, but typically he didn't follow them up with a cross country forced march over rough terrain. This was going to be... difficult. He looked out over their back trail, and started with state capitals, in alphabetical order. Alabama, Montgomery. Alaska, Juno. Arizona, Phoenix. Arkansas, Little Rock. It struck him then that it was entirely possible, probably likely, that none of these cities existed. California, Sacramento.

"John?" Kyle was beside him.

He looked at him, his father. "Yeah?"

"State capitals?"

"Was I saying them out loud?"

"Well. Mumbling. What happened out there?"

John thought about it. He had killed before. With his bare hands even, but nothing like this. "They came along the ridge, just like Jorge said." He was looking out over the valley. He looked at his dad. "They weren't very good. They were too close. They were too big of a target. Too easy a target."

"They are hunters, not fighters. It's different."

John nodded.

"What did you do?"

"I killed them."

Kyle nodded this time.

"They were the same. They were all the same."

"What do you mean John? What do you mean?"

"They all looked alike." John shivered. He could think of one reason they looked alike.

"Those hilltop fortresses are usually family based."

John nodded. It made sense now, what he saw out there. "The first one was the oldest. He was their leader." Elder brother may be a younger uncle. "When he went off the ridge, the others panicked. They... they were children. They were may be fifteen, sixteen years old." John could hear the tremor in his voice. He had to shut it down. He looked away, out across the bent scrub and crooked trees.

"How old are you John? How old do you think Dalia is? How old is Allison?"

John opened his mouth.

Kyle cut him off. "It is the same. It's exactly the same thing."

"The third one," he said without preamble. "The third one was a girl. She was just trying to help her brother or her cousin, and I blew her head off." His vision blurred. He felt the strong urge to vomit, but he rules superseded that.

"John..." He felt a hand on his shoulder. He thought distantly that he could have handled it, but for the contact. It was too much.

He sobbed, quietly. He ducked his head into the stock of his rifle, and a man who barely knew him, yet was his father squeezed his shoulder as he wept. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but what could I do? I had to kill them, right? If I hadn't killed them. They would have killed me. She would have blown my head off, right?" John calmed himself down. He caught his breath.

"Right."

"Yeah, sorry."

"I'm sure he was a good man."

"Who?"

"Your father."

John just looked at him.

"You called me 'dad' twice."

"What?"

"You said: 'I had to kill them, right dad?' and 'She would have blown my head off, right dad?'"

"I did?"

"Yeah." Kyle smile at the bent shrubs. "It's ok. We probably have a lot in common." Kyle looked at him. "You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah. I'm... I'm fine."

Kyle crawled back to his side of the camp.

John dozed. He started awake. He looked, Jorge, and Dalia were keeping watch. John closed his eyes. It was a dream he was half expecting. They were on the ridge. He heard Dalia's whistle, and he saw the hunters. John brought up his weapon and fired. The older man dropped right there. Sat down, in the middle of a fire fight and looked at him. He held up his bloody hands. It was Kyle.

"No!" John ran to him. He slid to a halt. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

"John, you shot me. You said I was your father and you shot me."

"I thought you were one of them." He motioned with his head, and as he looked up. He saw them, the hunters. The second hunter was young may be 7 or 8, his cloths were much too big for him. He was looking at the two halves of his rifle, a cork dangled from a piece of string tied to the weapons barrel. He looked like he was about to cry. The third was looking right at him. It was Cameron.

"He is," she said and shot him.

The change in the terrain was abrupt. There was the thick fence of trees pointed in their faces. Then scrub, high enough to limit their visibility, but sparse enough to give them no real cover. The valley had opened up as well. They were still bunched up pretty tight when John recalled similar terrain when they caught a hint of the mountain lion. They had gone another slow paced 6 miles or so when Kyle signaled a stop.

The weeds ahead of them were about hip high. The demarcation was so sudden that John couldn't believe it was natural. They knelt at the edge of the grass, still beneath the scrub. Across nearly half a click was the wreckage of tract housing.


	4. Chapter 4

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 4

He leaned towards Dalia, "We waiting for the 'all clear'?"

The two runners' gawked. Slightly behind them he could see Kyle grinning.

"How did you know?" It was Jorge. Dalia was still looking at him like he had formed spontaneously out of the air. Which he did, about two weeks ago.

He pointed down, at the base of one of the shrubs they were concealed beneath. The branch had been cleanly cut.

"I'm guessing, that that cut mark had been below the level of the grass, but the shade killed off the grass, which eventually weathered away and exposed the cut. They need to be more careful."

There was a flash of light from a second story window.

"Was that the 'all clear'?"

"No, that's them, telling us they've spotted us," said Kyle, who was watching the ruins.

"Oh. So they're going to come and get us?"

This time they all stared at him: "Yeah." Kyle answered.

"Good."

After about ten minutes someone approached them from their left. There was a short, sharp whistle. Kyle responded in kind. There were eight of them to bring four in. They brought a dog. They didn't cross here. They were 'escorted' back to an overgrown road. John didn't like the idea of getting caught on an open road, and was happy when less than half way down they entered a large storm drain. They followed large pipe about 500 feet. At a manhole cover they were met by another group. The first group stayed behind. Their new guards, who brought their own dog, escorted them to a 'safe house'. They followed the storm drain to a purpose built tunnel that led to a basement of one of any number of collapsed houses.

There were cots there and food, after a fashion. It was dried venison, and a kind of bread made, near as John could tell, of thickened 'breakfast' which was then fried. The 'bread' was round, and about the size of a pancake it was like a very thick, and chewy cracker, it wasn't that bad, although John thought the oil it had been cooked in had been used too many times. He ate two pieces.

He sat on a cot, a piece of venison stuck in his mouth as he waited for it to soften. He was leaning forward over his knees. In the cot beside him was his father, who was patiently chewing on his own piece of venison. Beyond him at the 'far' wall, may be 6 feet away, the two runners sat cross legged on the floor munching on the last of the bread, they were talking, but not with their mouths. John watched as their fingers flashed back and forth.

Kyle seemed to be staring up through the ceiling. "They're talking about you." He seemed to say to the warping floor joists.

John nodded. "Good, I hope." He watched them intently, if the Jorge or Dalia noticed they either didn't care or knew that he could not read their hand 'signs'.

Kyle glanced over. Watched for a few seconds, and went back to chewing at the ceiling. "They are signing about how you single handedly took out an entire 'Hill Folk' hunting party."

"I didn't do it 'single handedly'." John looked at his father's profile. Wondering, if this was how legends started.

Kyle only shrugged. He rolled onto one side, and looked John right in the eyes. "I don't know if I can get in trouble for this, but can I ask you a question?"

"S-sure." John tried to give him a genuine smile, but thought that it would probably look more natural on a cyborg.

If his father saw, he paid it no heed. "You've got good skills. You're 'field discipline' is good. You know how to take care of your weapon. You keep your head in a fight. When we get back to camp I'm going to ask Derek if we can take you on. But first I want to ask you if that is something you want to do?"

John blinked. They were offering him a chance to serve under Derek, under his father. To learn from, at least according to Cameron's records, two of his own best soldiers.

Kyle saw the hesitation. "You don't have to answer now, but keep it in mind." He rolled back to stare at the bottom of a broken house.

Beyond him, John could see the two runners', they were staring at him. There were fingers frozen in "Yes," he heard himself reply. "I think... I think I'd like that."

Kyle looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Good. That's good."

John bit down on the softened strip of venison. The taste of salt, smoke and deer flooded his mouth.

"John?"

"Yeah." He said. For perhaps the first time in the future, he felt like he 'belonged'. He almost relaxed.

"Why did the 'old man' think it was so important for you to know the date?"

John flinched. He opened his mouth and almost lost his venison.

"John?" His father insisted.

His mind raced. He couldn't lie, not like that. Not to his father. "I… I don't think I can answer that question."

Kyle just nodded. "I appreciate that. I appreciate your honesty." He turned to look at him. "I mean that." Without breaking eye contact: "Jorge. Dalia. Kill that light it's late let's get some rest." To John: "We are safe here. No need to keep a watch." 

The next night they were back to running. Jorge set a good pace, happy to be back in an environment he knew. They were moving roughly south and east. After two rest stops they were at place called 'Delta 7'. This one was different from the other bunkers John had visited. For one it was much larger.

Allison-

John was sitting alone at one of the folding tables. His hair was still damp, it was getting shaggy again. He would have to consider either cutting it again, or having it cut. Where there barbers in the future? His chin itched. Shaving hadn't been a daily routine for him, but it's been 2 weeks now. He'd end up looking like Derek if he wasn't careful.

He looked around at the other tables. Like many of the bunkers he had already visited this one was an old parking deck. Kyle had gone off with Derek. Jorge and Dalia were still in the showers. He couldn't wait. This was his first hot meal in most of a week. Someone poked their head over his shoulder.

"You made it back!"

He almost spit up his lunch. He turned to the left, but there was no one there.

"I knew you would!" Someone said over his right shoulder. "Everyone's talking about you!" He looked at her. Cam... Allison. The girl sat down in the chair beside him. She too had a bowl of the Venison and barley stew. She scooted the chair closer, and turned it towards him. She leaned in as she spoke. She seemed very excited. "I think I'm in 'tech-com'. Derek interviewed me after the move." She said in a whisper, she ate a spoon full of the stew, which was one more than John had managed to get down.

"Congratulations!" He said with feelings he didn't have. Is this her fate: To realize her dream, to enlist in 'tech-com?' Only then to be captured by Skynet, and become Cameron's 'original'? John lost his appetite, the Rules, however, compelled him to eat. 

She whispered again "Derek was right. You are famous! Even before you were out of the showers, the runners' were spreading your story all over!" He realized then that her 'whispering' wasn't out of secrecy but camp discipline.

"Really?" So lame, John thought: way to keep up the interest. Good job, keeping her engaged.

"Really!"

"Wh...What are they saying?"

"That you have nerves of coltan. That you weren't fazed by _two_ 'hill folk' attacks. That you didn't so much as sweat when you were surrounded by wolves and that you didn't even blink with the mountain lion. That you even used an HK for cover fire. You're either the bravest man in the world or..."

"Or," John prompted, around another spoonful.

"Or," she smiled. "You're just not very bright." She laughed. It was a wonderful laugh. It was a brilliant laugh. So alike, yet unlike Cameron's laugh, "The boring kind" he had said and she laughed.

He laughed. He ate, knowing that he needed the protein, and the calories. "How was the move?"

"It went, well, I think. I was with Derek's team. Probably, so he could have an extra runner if he needed one."

Another spoon full. Keep her talking, John thought. "I think I'm going to headquarters tomorrow night. I'm supposed to meet a general."

"Oh." She seemed to be thinking about something.

"Oh?"

"I think. I think I'm going with you."

"Why do you think that?"

"I'm being reassigned tomorrow. That's... that's why I think I'm _in_. I don't know whose squad, but I was told that I should be ready to travel."

"Oh." 

They finished their meal in silence. 

John was staring at something, he couldn't see, far beyond the bunkers concrete walls. He was going to meet a general tomorrow. What was he going to say? What was he supposed to say? For as long as he could remember he had wondered how to go about 'building' an army. Now what? Was he supposed to steal one?

"Did she look like me?"

John looked at Allison, she was looking at him. "Wh-What?"

"Your sister, did she look like me?"

John's mind raced back to a conversation that took place almost two weeks ago. What had he said? What had she asked? More importantly, what had he not said? 'Yeah. Yeah, she looked a lot like you." He felt himself smile, at the memory of Cameron and the presence of Allison.

Allison smiled back. She broke eye contact, she was looking out passed the same wall John had. The smile melted away, like frost, in the morning. "Do you know what happened to her?"

"No," he lied. "Not really. She, she just left one day, and... and never came back." John thought about that 'lie'. It was mostly true "he didn't take her chip. She gave it to him".

They sat in silence. John was looking at Allison's profile. Allison was looking at chips of peeling paint.

"That... that happens a lot." A weak smile, aimed at a stained and crumbling wall. "I don't like it when people leave, because I think, that I think, they won't be coming back."

"What happened to you?" John wanted to ask, but that logically led to a reciprocating question. A question he could not answer. Not truthfully anyway. He wanted to just say something in the prolonged silence, but all his questions and suspicions lead down paths he wasn't sure he wanted to go down, just yet. He looked down at his bowl. It was empty. They didn't even have the pretext of eating to keep them here. So, he smiled at her.

She looked at him, which seemed to bring her back from where ever she was. She smiled back. "Come on, I'll show you where we're billeted."

John Connor was an anomaly. This became more and more obvious, even to him, as he spent more time 'in camp'. Others noticed as well. They could not help but look at him and know. Walking side by side with Allison Young, he was easily 6 inches taller. What he discovered was that Allison, at 5 feet 6 inches was considered tall. He had seen it as they moved back from the 'forward' bunker that was the old Zeira corp. building. As they 'ran' he had visited three other 'bunkers' this was his fourth. He met more and more people of his own 'chronological' age. What he saw stunning.

He completely lacked any of the scars of childhood malnutrition that stamped almost all of the other teenagers. He didn't have: the knobby kneed, or poked out at the elbows look, the fragile waif like appearance, or the almost palpable mental 'slowness' that he seemed to see in so many. He could not imagine that the 'slow' kids would survive there first encounter with metal. He could not know how right he was. These 'kids,' most were soldiers, were born just before Judgment Day. Their formative years had been spent scrabbling from shelter to shelter, fighting dogs and other vermin for scraps of food. It occurred to him that this was Riley's world. John had always been considered 'fit' he had 5-10% more body fat; he had 10-15% more muscle mass. He was, with little exaggeration, a giant.

They left the 'cafeteria' and followed twists and turns, and then came upon, what as far as John could tell was temporary housing. Most of these temporary 'sub camps' had their own storage areas, their own supply. A staging area? As he looked around he began to wonder how many 'companies' made up General Perry's command. How centralized was their command? How centralized could it be if they felt it necessary to post guards 'inside' a bunker? How secure were they here? How often and how deep were the 'infiltrations'? "The t-triple-eight is an advanced model infiltrator" Cameron had told to him. "She would not be the first human fooled by a machine," She said. The memories brought him no comfort. He remembered the dogs could they get passed the dogs?

"What's going on?" He asked, barely a whisper. They were walking around the 'sub camps' perimeter.

Her eyes flicked to him to the guarded supplies. She nodded, and said loud. "They always have us in back," she pointed off to the right. "Probably, the quartermaster's idea of a joke."

They cleared that perimeter, passed through what had been a bank of elevators, they turned right, then almost immediately hooked around a 'friendlier' camp and went back left. Their pace slowed. Still looking forward she leaned in, "separate command. General Davis' Fighting 125th SOC." It was getting darker here the spacing between the lights was getting farther and farther.

They passed another camp, a girl there waved. Allison smiled and waved back. "Kate," she said by way of explanation. "That's Kelly Boyd's Charlie Company."

Allison became quiet again, as they passed out of the glare of one bulb and into the shadow. John noticed her smile had faded with it. "Dave... Dave is gone."

"Dave?"

"Yeah, you know the Asian guy?"  
"I know, but I thought you said the move went well."

"Oh. No. It's not that. He heard... When we got word you were coming back. He asked for a transfer."

"Oh. Were you and he...?"

"No. Oh, no. We had been runners together. He tried and got 'tech-com' first. He was just someone to talk to. There aren't many our age... in the company."

'Left' John thought to himself. She was going to say 'left'. "Where did he transfer to?"

Allison pointed her thumb over her shoulder.

John thought she meant 'Charlie' Company, and almost said so.

"Davis' Fighting 125th."

John found it odd that two units that distrusted each other to such an extent would transfer personnel. Rather than ask he filed it away for future reference.

They passed another 'encampment' the guards waved them through one nodded at John. John responded as a reflex. Only belatedly, recognizing him as someone he had spent his second morning in camp scrubbing pots with. "Hey," he said as he passed. He saw the grin on the guards face, it was broad and disturbing. 

"See, you _are_ famous." Allison whispered.

"You just gained another fan."

He'd die for me, he thought. The chill wiped the smile off his face.

Allison didn't seem to notice. "Until we're assigned, we'll want to report to Derek. He has 1st platoon, and Kyle has second squad. Camp 'layout' is usually pretty standard, until you figure it out, just ask someone."

John could guess the rest, just from the 'rooms' architecture. The 'walls' didn't reach the ceiling they were portable. They made up a small common area and 4 rooms. They were an under strength 4 platoon, company. Derek was in overall command. In the 'common area' was a small folding card table, much abused. Propped against one let was the company 'standard'. It was painted on the back of a scorched and rusted highway sign. It was an image of a lion with a terminator head in its jaws. The legend read: "Alfa Co. 1st Battalion 130th SOC." Beneath this in quotes: "Hang in there baby!" He had stared at it until he remembered the poster from the safe house.

Cameron had said: 132nd SOC. The past had changed the future. Derek had said as much. Some of the other things he'd figured. Each squad would have one runner. When they had gone up to Lancaster, Derek had stripped half of the runners from 1st platoon, and his senior NCO. But, he reasoned, if they had a habit of moving 'runners' into 'tech-com'. Then his platoon might be as much as 1/5 or more former 'runners'.

They went to the first door on the left, there was a curtain drawn across it for privacy, the door was gone though the 'wall' mounted hinges remained. Allison pulled the curtains to one side. Kyle was standing there, he seemed to be about to walk out. "Oh." He looked from John to Allison and back. "Good. I talked to Derek, he agreed. If you want _in_ he'd be glad to have you in his Company. He said I could take you into my squad." He turned to Allison. "I talked to Derek. You're _in_. Get your gear. You're in second squad." He turned back to John. "I'm pairing up the two of you."

John had spent his entire life hiding who he was. He thought he hid his response, but Kyle had lived his entire life knowing that missing important details could get you killed. He missed nothing. He grinned. "No John, we don't normally 'pair up' raw recruits but neither of you are 'raw'. Allison's been a 'runner' for a year and change now. She knows the 'signs' and the 'cues'." He left unsaid: that she can answer all of your 'unnerving' questions. "You know your weapons. You've got good fire control. You've got a good 'eye' for terrain." He didn't add: you've had training. At your age, it's like you were raised for this. There was a pause, an over long one, like he was thinking about saying it. He did that trick where he was looking at John but was talking to Allison. "Run him by 'supply' get him his kit." This time he was looking at John and addressing him. "Trips been postponed till tomorrow night. Spend tonight 'in quarters' get her to show you 'signs' and you walk her through field stripping one of the long arms."

He moved to walk between them. John and Allison turned sideways to let him pass. 

"Kyle." He found himself asking as he walked passed. "Why did they push the meeting back?" 

"Scheduling conflict with the General." 

John nodded. 

Kyle nodded and walked off. 

He looked at Allison. She looked at him. "Come on. Supply is this way." They walked back the way they came. 

Their bunks were at the near end of the bunks assigned to 2nd squad. They were sitting cross legged at opposite ends of John's, the bottom bunk. He had let Allison have first pick. Between the forest of bunk uprights to his left, he could see the curtained door about 15 feet away. He kept an eye to it. To his right was the back of their quarters, where most of the rest of the platoon was furiously 'signing' to each other. He was watching Allison field strip his pistol. She removed the magazine, checked the chamber, and disassembled the pistol. He was prepared to stop her when she made a mistake, but she had done this before. 

His pack with his 'kit' was under his bunk. John's kit included his very own gun cleaning equipment. A set of poor quality flatware, 2 pair of socks, 2 shirts, his own coat though he still wore his fathers, a knit hat, a shallow metal plate, a metal cup, a toothbrush and a bayonet. Allison had already showed him how to bundle the flatware, the toothbrush, and a sock in the cup so that it didn't rattle around. She reversed the operation and check its function and handed it to John, grip first. As John reached for it, he was struck by a sense of deja vu, so powerful his mind reeled. 

"Promise?" He had asked her. She was still coated with a fine layer of thermite dust. Behind her he could see the incredulous looks on their faces. His mother had put herself between them and Derek. He didn't realize until now, that she had probably saved Derek's life. Charley just stood there. "Promise." She replied and handed him back his weapon. 

"John? John?" 

"Sorry," he half smiled at her. "I... that just reminded me of something..." 

"It wasn't pleasant was it?" 

"No. No. Not really." He shook his head and put the pistol down beside him on his left side. He picked up his AR, checked the chamber then handed it to Allison. 

She took the weapon mimed removing the magazine. They didn't have one. They had had to get permission from the armory just to have the 'long arm' in barracks. As John discovered only the security company typically went armed in camp. Allison pulled the charging handle and verified that the weapon was unloaded. Then with the only round within a hundred feet she pushed the pin out and broke the rifle down. The parts were arrayed between them on the rough fabric. She started to reassemble the weapon. 

John saw movement by the curtain. It was Jorge and Dalia. They had been right behind him in the shower, yet it had taken them more than an hour to eat and make it back to quarters. Jorge saw him grinned broadly, and waved, just a bit too enthusiastically. Another fan thought John. Who nodded back, pretending to be preoccupied watching Allison. Dalia touched her on the shoulder as they passed. Allison glanced up smiled and gave her a thumbs up. Pushed the retaining pin back into place, pulled the charging handle, and with the weapon pointed at a wall pulled the trigger. Click. 

She looked at John. 

"Again." 

Without so much as a blink she broke the weapon down, again. John watched her. In his peripheral vision he could see the two runners, greeted and accepted by their own platoon. Hardly a surprise. He could see the movement of their hands but unless he turned his head the details were lacking. 

Click.

He smiled. Allison smiled back. He wasn't the only one watching. "Again" he said. It was a trick he learned from his mom. You learned by 'doing', and you 'did' until you dreamed it. 

Her third run was much better. Her movements were much more confident. Cleaner. Muscle memory, he thought. There was a familiarity that she had with that rifle that he could understand. It struck him then that like himself she had grown up around weapons and had only needed a refresher. 

Click. She had a very self satisfied smile on her face. 

"You're parents had weapons when you were growing up?" 

Her face fell, and left a blankness, that even Cameron would have envied. Her arms and the rifle dropped to her knees. She was looking at him, her eyes darting around his face searching for something. Finally, "John, I was two on Judgement Day. I only have the vaguest memories of my parents." 

Oh. "How did... how did you survive?" 

"Some resistance fighters found me." 

He didn't think he had looked, but he must have. 

She glanced at them, in the back corner. "Not them. They've only been in the fight for the past 8 years. The ones before them, found me. I don't like to talk about it." 

He stammered out an "I'm sorry." 

She waved it off. 

Then a puzzle piece fell into place, and he knew. He was so surprised that he couldn't even shut himself up. "You know Martin Beddel." He did manage to keep from clapping his hand over his mouth. 

Allison just blinked at him. "I... I've met him. I was sent up to train with him." 

He nodded. She lied to him. Part of him was saddened by this. He wondered if she had lied about anything else. Over his shoulder hanging from their bunk, was her pack. He was very aware of its presence. What secrets did it hide? His gaze had wandered down to the rifle in her lap. He looked up at her. "What are they saying?" 

She turned to look. John saw a shadow darken the curtain. Allison noticed his notice and turned toward the door. 

A man walked in, over his shoulder was the pistol grip of a tactical shotgun. John saw Allison smile up at him. He stopped beside John's bunk. "Radice." She said. 

He nodded his acknowledgement of Allison. He looked at John. "I'm Corporal Radice. Kyle sent me to talk you. Have you ever handled an energy weapon?" The man was short, shorter then Allison, and not nearly as broad as Derek. John could see the muscles standing out of his neck. Another former runner he thought. 

John looked at Allison. She just shook her head at him. He looked up at Radice. "Energy weapon?" 

"Yeah, like a plasma rifle? I'll take that a as a 'no'," He said. His eyes shifted, "Allison, I'm gonna borrow your 'boyfriend' for an hour or two." 

She made a face. Then asked, "can I come?" 

He looked from John to Allison. "Why the hell not. Blowin' up shit is fun. Come on then." 

John uncoiled himself, and put his sidearm in the holster at his hip. 

Radice noticed this. "You can leave that, if you like." When he saw that John was going to ignore him: "Or not." He turned and walked out, expecting them to follow. John followed, but not so quickly that he didn't notice Allison signing to the rest of the platoon. 

In the hall, they walked abreast. He just looked at her profile. She flipped a stray lock of hair back behind an ear and noticed his look. She smiled at the hall ahead of them. "I told them to knock it off." 

John nodded. "Thanks. What do you know about 'energy weapons'?" 

She looked down, then at him as they walked. Ahead of them a few paces was Radice. He didn't seem concerned that they hadn't caught up. "They are all Skynet weapons. Most of them are very heavy. Some so big they can only be mounted. The one you usually see carried by 'tech-com' are the plasma rifles. They are noisy and produce a lot of heat." 

"What about skynets 'spies'?" 

She turned her head to look forward, then back at him. John kept an eye on Radice without turning his head. He was easy to spot his movements were dliberate, people just got out of his way. Even at this distance he could see the muscles move beneath his shirt. This would not be someone he wanted to pick a fight with, not a fair one anyway. "They don't seem to respond to Skynet weapons. Perhaps it never thought we would use them against?" 

John just nodded. It made sense, sort of. Or it just didin't care if we used them. The live fire range was below them another three levels. They weren't taking chances. Good, he thought. They were well below the parking structure. He wondered where they got the heavy equipment, the expertise, the electricity, the lumber. 

The first weapon was the 'lightning cannon'. Utterly worthless. It weighed about a half a ton. How did they get it down here? It fired a lightning bolt. Nearly impossible to aim. Thunderously loud, go figure. It might be useful against humans but unless you had a large number of people ready with hex head screwdrivers and pliers he couldn't see much utility against cyborgs. 

The Gauss gun fired steel or at least 'something' in a magnetic 'sabot' at incredible muzzle velocities, it had two barrels that fired alternately to alleviate 'recoil,' torque really. The fire rate was phenomenal, and would probably work well for supplying suppressing fire. But its size, weight, and amazing noise levels would limit its use. The weapon itself made little noise. A kind of electric humming, but each round broke the sound barrier as it left the barrel. With a fire rate approaching 800 or a thousand rounds per minute. It was quite deafening. 

Next, they showed him the 'automatic mortar' it was one of the few 'chemical' explosive weapons that Skynet used or manufactured. It was a 'shoulder' weapon for 'metal' but an artillery piece for a human. The barrel was shorter, and the device was heavily automated, but it reminded him of a russian mortar he had seen as a child in south america. Obviously, it hadn't been 'in the field' it had been in a parade, one generalissimo or another trying to show off their soviet ties. 

The only useful weapon they had was the phased plasma rifle. It was bulky and heavy about 25 pounds. it was a 'bullpup'. The magazine was behind the pistol grip. Which was awkwardly placed as the weapon was too heavy to comfortably shoulder. It had no sights. It seemed to John to be the natural evolutionary step of the Gauss gun. Smaller, lighter, much lower fire rate, with much smaller 'projectiles'. If you could call what it fired a projectile. It fired a super heated sliver of metal, it was suspended in a powerful magnetic field to keep it from melting the weapons barrel.

John wasn't very happy with its firing characteristics. It had little in the way of recoil, but the glare, and the shift of center of gravity from its loading mechanism were something that would take to getting used to. He fired more than a couple of 'rounds' into the back wall before he scorched his first target. It occurred to him that a human target might be flash burnt, blinded, perhaps blistered on exposed skin. He looked down at it in wonder. 

Radice, smiled. "No worries. Its not like any long arm. Safe that weapon." 

It had no safety, so he just took his finger off the trigger and pointed it away. 

Radice put a sandbag at the base of John's target. He took his canteen and poured water over the bag. He walked back. "What is the percent water in the human body?" 

"70?" John guessed. 

"Closer to 60. Hit that", he said. "Aim about a three quarters of an inch lower, and about a degree to your right, of your last shot. Ought to hit." 

John did, and did. The bag exploded. Sand sprayed everywhere, the bag itself, crumpled John's paper target against the rooms ceiling. The wooden post his target had been attached to vibrated with the force of the blast. 

"That was, may be, 10% water, and the bag isn't air tight, nothing to hold the pressure in. Brought in a squad mate once , we thought he had a compound fracture in his lower leg. The docs laughed and told us it was a rib. That thing," he gestured with a nod. "Will teach you proper spacing." They spent may be an hour down there, plinking at paper targets. John was beginning to feel comfortable. He like Radice. He even learned that as the 'company' supply 'officer' he earned the nickname "Radish." 

"Yo! Allison! You ready?" 

John jerked. He had completely forgotten about her! He turned, and there she was just standing there. Ten feet behind them, half way to the wall. 

"Sure!" She smiled at them, and put a small folding knife in her back pocket. As she passed John, she gave him a smile and held out her hand. Automatically he reached for it. "I made you something." 

His heart twisted. He almost stepped away, but before he could she pressed the tiny object into his hand and was passed him. John opened his hand and looked. It was a small wooden dog, its head back, its mouth open, as if howling. 

"Its a wolf," she said over her shoulder. 

He looked over at her. She wasn't quite to Radice yet. "Thank you." He said, genuinely

"Come on Allison, you wanna burn some paper or not?" 

John walked back to where Allison had been standing. The floor was covered with a inch or so layer of sand, he could see her boot prints. He turned and watched them. Shoot, reset. Shoot reset. There was any where from 5 to 15 seconds between cycles. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason between the varying lengths of time it took for the weapon to 'cycle.'Radice was giving her almost the same speech. He looked down at the wolf in his hand. He brought it up close to see the detail and there was some nice detail work, and realized that out of the corner of his eye he could see the light spilling out of the stairway. He glanced up at Radice and Allison, squared himself and looked down, again. He could almost make out the bottom three steps. Interesting. He had felt safe with Radice, and he was pretty sure now, why. He thought that perhaps Allison was the one being over cautious. No, John dismissed that line of thought. There are no coincidences. Cameron would have had hard time finding a better place to guard him from, and would not have had ability to disguise it by carving 'a small furry animal'. They shot for almost an hour. It was only when they were done that John realized that they had never reloaded the 'rifle'.


	5. Chapter 5

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 5

They were sitting on his bunk again. Allison was 'walking' him through some 'required' signs most were the standard hand signs that he knew. Others, as he suspected, were modified American Sign Language. Hands, open, side by side, backs facing out: was 'wall' or 'perimeter'. An open right handed chop to base of the left thumb: intruder. 'Break' was easy two fists, snapping motion. "'Broken' plus 'wall' was a perimeter breach. A curved index finger stroked under the chin, was an important one: "metal". 

The curtains moved. John turned towards it. Allison spun in place. It was Radice. Right behind him was Kyle. 

"First Platoon. Gather 'round. Let's move." Radice called out. They stopped right in front of John's bunk. Kyle pointed his index finger to the ceiling and drew a circle in the air: 'rally point'. John moved to stand. Kyle signaled for him to stay seated. Soon all four squads of first platoon stood clustered around John's bunk. Dalia knelt down behind and beside Allison. Jorge, stood uncomfortably close behind John, his head ducking under the top bunk. 

Radice looked around, from face to face. "All present." He was short enough that he didn't have to duck to look under the bunk. 

Kyle waited a beat, and spoke: "The more observant of you may have noticed that we've brought in some new people." 

There were some quiet chuckles. 

"To the less observant of you: We've brought in some new people." 

Some more chuckles. 

Kyle was standing in parade rest. He seemed to be waiting for something. "Allison," he indicated with his eyes, when he got whatever it was he was waiting for. "You know." Earlier In a mix of spoken and sign she told John that she had been a runner for the Alfa Company for 5 months. Been a runner for the 130th, for the previous 6 months. "John" Kyle reached out and touched him on the shoulder, then returned to parade rest. "You'll want to watch. He's a pretty mean shot, and knows his way around a battlefield." In the brief silence that followed, John could almost hear _them_ remembering how they had found him little more than two weeks ago. "We're moving out..." 

John perked at thi, his heart pounding in his chest. 

"...tomorrow night." 

His mouth was frozen in a unsaid: "What?" He planted his feet to stand. A hand was on his knee. John looked. Allison was leaning across the bunk, her hand staying him. 

"Derek is heading out tonight. Jorge, grab your pack. Derek wants you top side with him. The rest of you, Be ready to move first dark tomorrow. Except for meals, you are 'in quarters'." There were disappointed sounds all around. Kyle nodded at Radice. 

'Toon, dismissed." 

There was a sympathetic grip on John's shoulder. Jorge. 

Kyle leaned over John, his hands on the top bunk. John could see his muscles straining with his grip. "I don't know John. I don't know. Derek is pissed. He's heading to HQ tonight to find out what's going on. He is 'ordering' us to follow tomorrow night, so that if there are more delays we will be delayed 'there'." He was still looking at John. "I'm going to address the rest of the Company. See to it that first platoon is ready to roll." 

This was to Radice, who turned and called out: "First squad, by teams, kits out! Fall in." 

"Sorry, John." 

John looked up, not even realizing he had looked down, but Kyle had turned and was heading to the door. "Jorge!" He called out. 

"Comin'!" Jorge, ran passed shooting them a thumbs up. 

"Second squad. By teams, kits out! Fall in." 

"What team..." They said simultaneously. Allison half smiled at him, rose, stepped in front of him and retrieve her pack, where it hung beside the wall. 

"Our team, I guess." John suggested as he fished under his bunk for his pack. They stood at the foot of the bunk, Allison was beside him. Radice walked up the line. There were nine of them. "Good. Good. Brandon, supply, get another pair of socks. Good. Tyler, laundry, now. Wash your pack too, the smell alone will attract metal. Good. Good. Hernandez fix that strap or get a new pack. If it's your 'lucky' pack, learn to sew. Good. Connor, before you use those you'll want to get the price tags off of them." Despite himself he looked. "Good. Tyler, get to the armory. Standard load out. Long arms for Connor and Young." 

John wagged the strap of his AR at his shoulder. 

"Nix that, just for Young." Radice stood back and looked at them. "Not a lot of spit and polish with this bunch of hombres. Which is good, never been a fan of spit or polish. Connor? I thought you had a limp, get to supply and replace that boot, the heels half shot off. Young. Show Connor how to make a scarf out of his spare shirt so he can breathe if we bump into 'aeriels'."  
He stalked off. "Third squad! By teams, kits out. Fall in!"

They spent another day sleeping, and then by late afternoon they moved by squads to breakfast then the armory. On their way John saw that 'Charlie' Company left their billet, he wondered when they had left, and where they had gone. Back to the fight? Where was 'Bravo'? Was there a 'Delta'? How many Companies made up this battalion? How many battalions made up the brigade that was the 130th SOC? 

Tyler was standing in for Radice. She was tall. As tall as John, and rail thin. Her hair was cropped short. She was missing three fingers on her left hand. When she noticed John noticing she told him she had lost them when she was a child. She had tried to pet a puppy, which turned out to be a wolf cub. She also had a scar that ran from her lip to just behind her left eye that gave her a kind of half grin. John couldn't tell if she had been serious or not. 

"T." The supply officer said simply. 

She turned and nodded. "Need AR magazines Kemp: Four magazines for Connor and six for Young, here." Kemp, disappeared through a curtained doorway. Tyler turned to John. "If what they say about you is true I want you to have extra magazines. Young is smart, she'll stick with you. She don't shoot her mouth off none, so I don't 'spect her to waste bullets." 

"You." There was an unexpected hardness that caught John off guard. "You, just keep _her_ safe." 

The officer returned with the magazines. Tyler collected them. John saw that his name was 'Kemper'. He smiled at him. John saw that Tyler was all business again. 

Kemper gave him a bland look. "Whatcha need buddy." 

John planted his right boot, heel first, on the counter top. 

He looked at the half missing heel. "Gonna have to charge you for two, we don't just sell one..." Kemper stopped. He did a double take. Looked from the boot, to name on John's BDUs. Then to Tyler. Who was now grinning, on both sides of her face. "T? Is this...? Is he...? This is... is _him_?" 

"Yeah, Kemp. That's the 'Connor' that everyone's been talking about." 

"No, shit? This is the boot? This is the heel that was shot off..." John was disturbed by the look in the man's eyes. Kemper was holding his boot like it was some sort of relic. "What, 4 or 5 days ago? And you only come to replace it now?" Then Kemper seemed to realize something. His round face darkened. "T! You're such an ass!" He shuffled around his side of the counter, picked up a bundle of laces and threw them at Tyler. Kemper turned to John. "I'm Kemper. I'm the sergeant in charge of supply. I'll be charging this boot to Private Tyler over there. I'll be right back." He turned and a packet of laces hit him in the back of the head. From behind the curtain came an inarticulate scream. 

"You got this Young? 'K. I'll meet ya'll top side then." Tyler was still grinning when she nodded to John and walked off. 

The platoon moved, differently. It was like, yet unlike a 'run'. In second squad, Tyler, and Hill took point with Kyle. Hernandez, and Voss pulled up the rear. John expected Tyler to be in the rear, but apparently Kyle like to keep her close. John followed Allison's lead, as they ran she pointed out the 'marks', and signed their meaning. The 'body' of the squad was also split, ahead of John and Allison was Brandon, and his fire team. John wasn't sure how happy he was with their disposition. 

Without Derek, Kyle was in command. Ok, John thought, Radice was in back with 4th squad. That was fine, John didn't like that fact that Kyle and so many of his seniors were towards the front of the squad. He understood that leading from the 'front' had advantages, but John would have put Tyler up front, and left Kyle back with the main body. It would make communications that much simpler and make it a lot less likely for their entire command to be wiped out by a single plasma blast. 

Allison slapped him on the shoulder, gave him a look, and took off. 

Sorry, he signed back belatedly and followed. 

They came around a corner, a mound of rubble really, that almost formed a 90 degree angle at its base, and stopped. She caught his shoulder, and pointed at her eyes, and stepped back. John looked. It was Brandon, and his team. They were taking cover behind a portion of wall, perhaps 15 feet in front of them. Why had they stopped? John pumped his fist at her. Allison ran. John followed. 

John signed 'question,' at Brandon. 

Brandon showed him. Up ahead, perhaps a hundred feet was Kyle, and his team. They were too close, they weren't moving. 

John leaned in close. "Something's wrong." 

"How do you know?" Brandon hissed back. 

"10 o'clock. 50 yards. That's first squad right?" 

Brandon looked. He banged the back of his head against the broken wall. "Ah, shit." 

"We need to find out what's going on. We need to get hold of Kyle. Who's your runner?" All of them turned to Allison. 

Great, John thought. Think! "Brandon, move up to cover Kyle. Allison, give me the ammo, then go and find Radice. We need to get the platoon..." 

John winced. There was a sharp pain on the left side of his head. Allison was trying to hand him her pack. He almost hit it with his head when he doubled over. "Get down. Now!" Weaver's brogue, resounded in his left ear. "Never mind," he said as he staggered up to his feet. "We're too exposed here. Need... need to get to cover." 

"Are you ok?" There was concern in Allison's voice. 

"Need a roof!" His left hand was still trying to reach for his ear. 

"A roof?" Asked Brandon. 

"Yes!" John almost screamed in exasperation. He hoped that Weaver could hear this and hold off her attack. 

"This way." They ran. It was a lobby or some sort. His eyes were tearing, the pain was incredible. "Cameron, get to Kyle, get him under cover. See if he can get word to first..." 

"What! What did you just call me?" There was outrage in her voice. 

John didn't understand. He couldn't believe there wasn't blood pouring out the side of his head. "Wh...What?" 

"You... You just called me 'Cameron'?" She was upset, hurt and angry. 

Another wave hit him. He was on his knees, in a fetal position, his forehead on the gritty but cool tile. 

"Who is Cameron?" John was sure that was Brandon. 

"His sister." 

"He thinks you're his sister?" 

Dear God, shut up! Brandon. He couldn't even lift his head. Aloud he pleaded, to the floor: "Please, I'm sorry. Please, get to Kyle. Get him safe. Get word to first squad. Get them undercover." 

There was a voice, in his head. "John, do not respond. Do not nod." It was Weaver. 

"I know." He tried to say through clenched teeth, instead he vomited. "It tastes even worse the second time." He managed to gurgle. Someone picked him up, out of his breakfast, and put him behind a counter. "Get him quiet!" 

"The pain is necessary," continued Weaver. "It is an emphatic reminder to you, that the longer I delay the less effect I can have on the outcome. You sent your little human. I will assume you want her safe. I will wait."

The sun was rising. They'd been trapped here for 4 hours now. John was standing in what had been a store front window, hands clasped behind his back. He was looking out over the rubble field, it was slightly depressed. Across the way, perhaps a mile away he could see almost intact buildings. First squad was hiding over there somewhere. Between John and them was desolation. Some pipes and girders were pointing accusingly at the brightening sky. His eyes wandered around the edge, taking in the dramatic demarcation. His eyes flicked up, pasted the orbiting HK. "Airburst." He said to no one in particular. His voice was still hoarse. They were back there, talking about him: Kyle, Brandon, all of second squad except for him and Allison. 

"What?" She was crouched down beside a concrete pillar. The HK fired four plasma bursts into the blasted plain, as if to remind everyone that it was still there. She flinched. 

John glanced at her. Some of pillars marble facade still remained it was a darkly veined green. He liked the way it looked against her hair. "Airburst. This", he gestured with his head. "Was an airburst. May be half KT, five hundred may be a thousand feet or so in the air." 

"How... how do you know?" 

"I wrote a program once, for a computer class. It calculated the damage radius of a nuclear detonation. You could specify size of the bomb, whether it was subsurface, ground burst or airburst. With the airburst you could even set the altitude. I got an 'A'." He looked down at Allison and smiled. "I think I gave my teacher nightmares." He looked back out and laughed at the destruction. 

"I mean, how do _you_ know?" She emphasized the 'you' her eyes darted to the shadowed depths of the store. Reminding him that there were listeners, and he noted that they had stopped talking amongst themselves back there. They were listening. 

He decided to give them something to hear. John turned and smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. "I think," he said. "I think _you_ know." 

Allison's eyes widened with surprise. She rose from her crouch, seized his collar in both hands, and pulled his head down to hers. Cameron could've given him whiplash doing that. He could feel her lips against his ear. She spoke in a harsh whisper. "John! Not here. Not now." Behind them the HK fired another series of plasma bursts into the dead ground. John noticed she didn't flinch this time. 

She was smiling up at him, as she backed away. Then John felt a deep rumble, first in his chest, then in his feet. "Earthquake," he heard himself ask, knowing full well that it was not. 

Allison was shaking her head. "No. No. No." 

Kyle came to them, crouched beside Allison's pillar, peaked out. "HKs gone." John could've guessed as much. "John," Kyle pointed towards east, as he stepped out into the open. "Make sure that thing doesn't circle around us. Oh. Jesus. Its Headquarters." 

"What?" Despite the fact that he knew that HK would not circle back. John kept an eye out for it. At the edge of his peripheral vision he could see a huge plume of dust rising high into the air. 

"Allison. Allison! Go. Go get him." John could hear receding footsteps. 

"Come on John, get back inside."

From the back: "Is it really?" Tyler asked. 

"Its got to be, there's... there's nothing else out that way." 

"Oh. God." Brandon, John guessed. "The General?" 

"I... I don't know." Kyle responded. 

"Charlie Company?" 

"I don't know." He repeated. 

"Derek?" 

"I _don't_ know!" Kyle all but yelled back, finally, growing as impatient with Brandon as John had been all morning. "Jorge's comin' in. Allison's bringing him up." 

"You saw him?" 

"Yeah." 

"What time was the meeting?" John asked from the front of the store. 

"What?" John guessed from his tone that Brandon was as annoyed with John as John was annoyed with him. 

"John? What?" He could hear the crunch of his boots on the dusty floor, behind him. 

"What time was my meeting with the General?" 

There was a prolonged silence. "About forty minutes ago. Why?" 

There was commotion behind them. John didn't even bother to turn to look. It would be Jorge and Allison. 

"It was Davis. I was Davis" Jorge repeated between gasps for air. 

"What? What do you mean: 'It was Davis'? More Brandon. 

"It was Davis!" 

"Report, soldier!" Kyle interrupted. 

John could almost hear Jorge stiffen. There was a rustling sound like paper. 

"That's it?" 

"Yes, he said to give that to you, and that if anything happened to him, you were to open it." 

There was the sound of tearing paper. 

John turned. "Kyle. Should I assemble the platoon?" 

"Huh? Yes. Yes John, do that." 

"Tyler. Let me see your mirror." 

There was a pause. "Give it to him." Kyle said with a shrug. 

The tall private handed him her mirror, it was rectangular and made of polished metal. John stepped out into the sun, and looked across the way, tried to remember which building the HK seemed to concentrate on. He flashed the mirror at it. A few seconds later they flashed back. He looked at Tyler. "You see that?" He handed her back her mirror. 

"Yeah." 

"Go get first squad." 

She left. 

"Allison?" He could hear Jorge pacing behind him. She was to his right just staring at him. A fine sheen of sweat beaded her skin. 

"You still good?" 

"Yeah." 

John looked across the rubble, oriented himself. "See those two buildings? 8 o'clock and 10 o'clock?" He pointed with is out stretched arms. 

"Yeah." 

"One will be Radice, the other will be third squad. Bring Radice and fourth squad in. We'll need third squad out there to watch our back. Get back here quick as you can." 

Allison nodded and ran off. 

John turned back to the others. "Brandon? Get your fire team out there and set up a perimeter." 

"What? Who put..." 

"Brandon. Do it." Kyle cut in. 

Without a pause Brandon called out, "alfa team!" 

"We'll have to wait for Allison, anyway." They were looking at him: Jorge, mid step, in his cool down walk; Brandon and his fire team on their way out; Kyle with the crumpled note in his hand. "I read the note: 'The Priest,'" he said by way of explanation. They were still looking at him, waiting. John sighed. "Allison _knows_ the way."

Without the HK orbiting John moved deeper into the stores shadow. He walked passed the countertops, a jewelry story, he thought. He sat down on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest. "Anyone have anything to eat?" 

Something wrapped in paper fluttered through the air he caught it. He tore the paper off, some of it stuck, he didn't care. He bit it and chewed. It tasted like crap. "What _is_ this?" 

"Plumpy nut," Jorge said as he circled. 

"Huh." He took another bit. It still tasted awful. 

No longer winded. Jorge, sat down heavily next to John. He wondered about this, but 2nd squad wasn't Jorge's, and he just sent off all the runners except for Kyle. John was never one to pass up a chance at 'intelligence'. "What happened?" 

"They were waiting for _you_." 

John could hear the unasked question: "What is a General doing waiting for _you_?" 

"Derek called me in, gave me the note and told me to find you." 

"No." John shook his head, rocking it back and forth against the wall behind his head. He need more information than that. "Tell me everything." 

"We got there last night. They fed us and put us up. The next night, well before dawn a couple of hours before you should have got there. General Davis' Security Company arrives. Funny thing, I heard one of the 'camp' security people say they were early. They get their billet, and they had their dinner. Derek and I are waiting, and waiting. Then some 'Lt' comes and gets us." 

"They were in the conference room. Derek, Colonel Taggert and The General." 

"Who is Col. Taggert?" 

"He's head of General Perry's Security." 

John didn't know that he was meeting with Perry, Taggert, _and_ Davis. 

"I'm waiting outside," Jorge continued. "I could hear their voices, but I couldn't understand them. Derek calls me in. He hands me a piece of paper and says: "Find them. If anything happens... Tell Kyle to read that." 

"As I'm leaving, I hear Col. Taggert say: "It's an awful lot of supplies for a 'security' company." And the General says: "Can you look inside them?" Taggert shook his head: "Too well guarded. What bothers me is, if he wants to meet this 'John' person so bad, why isn't he here?" 

"So I go up top. I take the long way hoping to see 'the supplies' but you know who I see instead? Up by one of the security offices?" 

"Who," asks John. 

"Dave." 

"Dave?" 

"What!" Brandon was butting in again. "How did he get there? I thought he was with the Company at the delta 7 bunker?" 

Jorge shrugs. "So I see Dave, and I don't want him seeing me. So I go back down and take the short way out." 

"What do think Dave doing there?" John inquired, knowing full well the answer. 

"He knows what you look like." 

"_Him_? Why _him_?" 

John just nodded. "How long ago was that?" 

"It was just before sun up. So, may be two hours ago?" 

"How did you know where to find us?" 

"I didn't. I was taking the Alfa route to Delta 7, when I saw that HK acting weird, and taking pot shots. So I figured it _had_ to be you."

Kyle, Radice, Tyler even Brandon, were standing around one of the store countertops, staring at it. It was a council of war, just like in the history books: Minus the peerage, the generals or even a commissioned officer. There wasn't even a map just Derek's note. John could almost imagine Kyle as Wellington surrounded by his generals deciding the fate of Badajoz. It was hardly so grand. 

"I have my orders. I have to take John to see the Priest." 

"And Derek," Radice asked. 

"I'm sending _you_ with 1st and 4th squad," Kyle looked up at Radice. "Leave 3rd here to cover your retreat. If... if... it's gone... Fall back to Delta 7 bunker. We've got the Security company there." 

"Davis had a company garrisoned there too." Tyler reminded Kyle. 

"I know. If Delta 7 is Davis'. Fall back to Echo 6." 

"And if he's got Echo 6?" 

"Shit, if he's got Echo 6? Damn. You think you can make it to Foxtrot 7 or Foxtrot 8? 

"Why not Echo 4?" 

"'Cause I don't want to have to cross 'Davis' territory to get to you." 

John was leaning back against a wall just watching them. He thought it was odd that they were all still staring at the note. Discussing a map they could see only in their heads. 

"Hell, sarge, this might all be Davis' territory." 

"Yeah. Yeah. But I won't have to walk as far. We settled?" Kyle asked? 

Neither Radice, nor Brandon looked happy, but there was no disagreement. 

"We're gonna need supplies, and rations." 

Right then and there, John decided that any unit on the move should carry at least 3 days rations. They left Delta 7 with nothing but water, and ammunition. Bad planning. 

"Think they have the supply depot," asked Kyle. 

Yes, thought John. Of course they do. I bet he's there right now. If he hasn't captured it already, he's working on it. 

"No way to know," Radice answered. 

"Radice, fourth platoon, with Brandon's fire team, head out come night fall. Scout it out. If it's ours get us food for say a week and a half. If it's theirs get your asses back here." 

They never left. 

The night was lit by an inconsistent glow, and filled with the thumps and intermittent booms of the burning supply depot. They sat side by side, behind the wall abutting the pillar that looked so nice against Allison's hair. Watching the flashing and flickering. Listening to the distance delayed rumbles and roars that had ended so many dreams. John felt Allison lean against him. He leaned back. 

John's mother had never been demonstrative. So rarely, when offered contact, did he decline. Fingers sought his. He did not encourage it, nor did he dissuade it. 

"Are they dead?" 

Yes. "I don't know." Even if they weren't how would we get them out? Part of him hoped they were dead. The thought of being trapped 3 stories underground with the only prospect being asphyxiation, was horrifying. 

"An accident?" John felt rather then saw her nod towards the angry glow, which waxed bright enough for John to see that Allison was crying. 

He thought of Kate in Charlie Company, of a Derek he barely knew, and of a general. He felt... nothing. 

"Probably, I'm sure that Davis would've wanted it intact" In fact if John's guess about General Davis' whereabouts were correct. He was probably dead as well. 

The grip on his hand tightened. The shoulder against his shook with silent sobs. They needed supplies. They needed food. The Delta 7 bunker was the closest, and it would have both, but whose bunker was it? 

"What was it like?" 

"What?" 

"Your childhood, I know you don't like talking about it..." 

"I don't like talking about it, when _they _can hear." 

"Why?" 

She lifted up her hand, the one tightly clasping his. She pulled her sleeve down. There was nothing there. It took John a second to register that fact. 

"How many of them?" 

"About half." 

John waited. The glow on the horizon dimmed. 

"I don't remember J-day. Not really. What I remember most was Baja. There was a compound there. I was five years old may be. My very first job was collecting 'brass'. At the range." 

John remembered Jorge scooping up his casings. He assumed that on the ridge if Dalia had not been busy shooting she would have been scrounging around for his.

"Then I worked in the 'factory', sorting 'brass'. Then eventually I was moved into 'Reloading'. The whole time we had lessons. Not what you think. We learned spanish. Set snares. Grew vegetables. They took us 'camping'." 

"How many of you were there?" 

"I'm not sure. May be a hundred? May be forty? When I turned 10 or so. I was sent to the 'academy' they called it. They taught us weapons there and tracking." 

"The 'academy'." John repeated. "It was in the desert wasn't it?" 

"Yes." She blinked, returned to the present. "Yes it was." She seemed about to ask how he knew, but she didn't. 

"How many of you were there?" 

"There were six of us." 

"Who?" 

Allison, her face lit by another flash, was smiling. She wasn't crying any more. She was staring at the distance. She was staring, John thought, at the past. "I can't tell you." 

"Was that where you met Martin?" 

"The first time? Yes." 

"Was he already sick?" 

"Yes. He wore gloves and a mask for his lectures. His tent was isolated from the others. They burned it when he left." 

"And then?" 

"That was about it. One day, I think I was 13 or 14. They told us, they were going to take us to the 'end of the world.'" 

"Where was that?" 

"East L.A." 

"What happened there?" 

"The war. I was still too small to fight. So I became a 'courier'. Moving messages from place to place, from officer to officer. After a year of that. I went west, and joined up under Perry as a 'runner'. When the brigade was reorganized I was attached to Derek's..." Her voice caught. "To Derek's Company. John?" 

"Yeah." 

"Why?" 

"Why? What?" 

"Why? _This_? Why did _this_ happen?" 

Somehow he understood that she wasn't talking about the destruction of 130th SOCs headquarters or its supply depot. "I don't know. Skynet, doesn't like us." 

"But why? I don't... I don't understand." 

"Hubris? I don't know. Someone told me once that it is 'in our nature to destroy ourselves.'" 

"Did we do this?" 

"_That_, out there?" John asked after a particularly bright flash. "Yes we did _that_ to ourselves, but the war in general. No, we just gave someone else the opportunity to do it to us. I guess. I mean a human made Skynet. So if we didn't do _this_ to ourselves, then at least we sowed the seeds of our own destruction." 

A deep thump shook the ground beneath them, and rumbles filled the silence. 

"John, can we win?" 

"I don't know. Not like this." He gestured with his free hand, "not by fighting amongst ourselves." 

"Can...you...?" 

"Can I?" John felt her gaze. He turned to look at her. Her eyes were still swollen, though her tears had dried. His free hand was still waving at the distant glow. Hers was on his cheek, then in his hair, drawing him to her. Their lips met, soft at first, and then with increasing intensity. Their teeth clashed. They parted, and mumbled simultaneous apologies. John smiled at her. Allison smiled back at him. She came up on her knees climbed across him. She tilted her head, and they kissed again. A tongue darted across his own, catching him by surprise. They parted again. She was sitting in his lap now. Her fingers were in his hair. She bit her lower lip. John's hands where on either side of her waist. She was looking down at his chest, specifically at his name. As if she were trying to memorize it. 

She looked up at him, and smiled. It was a shy kind of smile. Her hands came down to his shoulders. "That was nice." She said. John brought his hand up and brushed her lips with his thumb. She nipped at it. She leaned in pressing her body against his. Her lips were against his ear again. "We both could use a little more practice, but next time try to remember that _my_ name is 'Allison'." She kissed him again, a long lingering kiss. She rose up on her knees, and stood up. 

"No. No. No. No. No." John muttered to himself, shaking his head. 

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes," she said, soft enough for what privacy they were afforded, "one day you're going to tell me about this _sister_ of yours," and then louder for their audience. "Come on. Besides, I think we've given them," she gestured with her head toward the back of the store. "Enough entertainment for tonight." Allison helped him to his feet. 

Kyle and the squad leaders, were quietly talking. They were discussing, John knew, the Delta 7 bunker. Allison walked passed them to the store's back room, where the rest of the platoon, except for 3rd squad was 'camped'. John stopped at the doorway, and leaned against the jam. Kyle raised an eyebrow at him. John just nodded. He was sure he had a stupid grin on his face. 

Someone stepped close behind him. Jorge, he thought. The man just didn't seem to understand the concept of personal space.

"She's upset. She gets sarcastic and flippant, when she's upset." 

"Flippant?" 

"My mother used to read a dictionary to me." 

"Really? Mine read me the 'Wizard of Oz', in Spanish." John realized that he had made a mistake. He didn't like the direction this conversation might take. Jorge had very distinct asian features. His name though spelled in the Spanish mode was pronounced in the English. Filipino was John's guess. So he asked: "Do you speak Spanish?" 

"No." 

John had expected a stronger reaction. So, he decided to change the topic: "Should I?" John gestured toward the back room. 

"No. Give her a chance to cool down. Tyler's back there. They can talk." 

Something irrelevant: "Was she that way with Dave?" 

"Dave?" Jorge laughed. "They barely tolerated each other." 

"She seemed upset when he left." 

"Well, we're runners, you know, we have to stick together." 

John nodded. There was a pause, the pregnant sort. John braced himself. 

"I thought I heard that 'Cameron' was your sister?"  
Again: with his family; with his past. People like to talk about themselves, so John threw it back at Jorge. "_You_ heard that?" 

"Shoot. The _metal_ probably heard that." 

John realized that one, definitely had. Involuntarily, his hand when to his left ear. The 'bandage' was gone. 

"I'm still here John. I've moved this unit beneath the surface of your skin. I'm speaking to you via bone induction. It will be next to impossible for me to be overheard. Not even close physical contact will reveal my presence." 

John wasn't sure but that last sentence seemed to be a joke. 

"Your head again?" 

"No, actually it's a lot better" 

"Still you should have the doc look at that." 

"We have doctors?" 

"Of course! Well, _one,_ but she was at headquarters." 

There was a pause that John knew better to interrupt. 

"She was a 'vet', really." 

"Serious?" 

"Yeah, but she was good, she even set up classrooms to train other people like Tyler." He nodded back toward the open doorway behind them. 

"Tyler's our medic?" Good to know. Yet another layer of concealment John could add to those he noticed early on. No insignia, beyond names. No badges, nothing to show unit affiliation. No references to rank. No little silver tennis shoes for the runners. No red crosses for the medics. Presumably no brass 'dogheads' with crossed syringes for veterinarians turned doctors. 

"Yeah, she was an EMT, before the war." 

John didn't respond. Kyle and Radice had decided to send out a scouting party to see what was going on at Delta 7. They would leave tonight and be back before dawn. John's only thought: "About time." He looked at Jorge. "I'm going to go and apologize now." It sounded wooden even to him. 

John walked into the back room, it seemed enormous, until he realized that the far wall was missing, along with the back third of the roof. Through gaps in the wall he could see that the platoon has spilled over into the adjoining stores. In the near corner John saw Tyler, beside her was Allison. She was sitting on the floor with her chin on her knees, arms around her legs. John crouched down beside her. He tried catching her eye. She was looking at the floor about four feet in front of her. "I'm... I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." 

Allison didn't respond. Disappointed John rose and turned to go. Someone grabbed his pant leg. He turned and looked down. Allison, still not looking up, gestured to the space beside her. John sat. 

Tyler was glaring at him over her head. 

"Its ok, T." 

Tyler rose, the look on her face promised trouble later, or at least painful, and marginal, medical care should that be required. 

John leaned back against the wall, he was thinking about the math, and ramifications of what he had seen today. Davis had made a terrible gamble and lost. Now would be the best time to take advantage of the situation, while his shattered battalion was in disarray. 

"I'm not her." 

John blinked. She was still looking at the floor. "I... I know." Oh. Believe me, he thought. I _know_. 

"And you can't make me into her." 

No, agreed John. I can't, but someone else can _her_ into you. "I know." 

"I want to get that straight, John. I'm not going to be some kind of replacement."

No, he thought, _she_ was the replacement. "I know." 

"Okay?" 

"Okay." 

Allison relaxed she stretched her legs out in front of her. She put her hand on his thigh. She leaned her head back against the wall looking up at the twisted skeleton of a drop ceiling. 

John was very aware of her hand. He had been trying to think his way around the 'Davis' problem, but the hand had driven all other thoughts from his head. His own hand was now pinned between them. He would not be able to move it without her noticing. He tried anyway. He leaned to the right to free his arm. Allison gripped his leg, thinking may be, that he was going to leave. "I don't like it when people leave," she had said to him once. With his hand free he released her grip on his thigh, and took her hand in his own. 

She sighed. "Have they made a decision yet?" 

"Yes." 

"About time." 

John smiled to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 6

Radice and 4th squad with Jorge as a second runner were sent out to check on the Delta bunker. They had been gone for little more than three hours, when Jorge came back. He was still winded. "Wounded."

"Who is wounded," Kyle asked, worried. He was still standing vigil over the countertop weighed down by crumpled piece of paper bearing its two word message.

"Lots. Of. Wounded," Jorge got out between gasps. He was still doing his cool down walk.

"How many?" Asked John, as Jorge paced passed him. John, arms across his chest, was leaning against the wall opposite Kyle's countertop.

"Many. A whole train. They weren't even trying to hide them. Sixty may be more." He added between gasps, as he paced.

From the wall John called out to Kyle. "We have to hit them. Now."

"With what? We're a _platoon_."

John ignored Brandon, and walked to their countertop. "How many battalions in Davis' Brigade? Five or six?"

"Five." Kyle answered, uncertain. Not, John knew, uncertain about the figure but whether or not he should be responding to the question. Kyle, like Torres the corporal from 1st squad, Brandon and Tyler, looked unnerved. They were discussing troop dispositions with someone they 'found' two weeks ago in a forward bunker.

"And, what five Companies for each battalion?"

They nodded, they looked at each other. As if willing one of them to wake the others up. John would've laughed if it weren't so serious.

"How many are 'field' units? Four? I've heard mention of 'security companies' I'm guessing one per battalion. How many 'command' units?"

"One company." Torres shot a look at Kyle. Kyle only shrugged.

"HHC?" No one responded. "How many battalions active in the field?"

"All of them." Kyle replied.

"Seriously," asked John surprised by the revelation. "Nothing in reserve?"

"One battalion is held back, but..."

"They just rotate the companies?" Again, no response. John just nodded.

"Davis takes his 'reserve' battalion." This is what he wanted to hear. It was even better than he expected, better than he had could have hoped. John counted off on his fingers. "The security company he blew up. The company at the Delta bunker. The one he attacked the supply depot with. The one covering for _that_ security company. That leaves him one company in 'reserve' pretending to be a battalion. How much do want to bet its his Headquarters Company? We have him! There's no one at the Delta 7 bunker!"

"How can you say that? You just mentioned the delta bunker company."

John just looked at Brandon. "How many people are in that company?"

"125, 135, there abouts."

"How many people does it take to carry a stretcher?"

"Oh. My. God. Kyle, he's right!"

John looked at Kyle. Kyle was just looking at him. John shook his head. "Send Jorge back out. Tell him to move 4th squad to a position where they can block the wounded. We move in and capture the bunker."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"You don't think Davis might object?" His father was still unconvinced.

"Davis is either severely wounded or dead."

"How do you _know_ that?" Brandon, again.

"_This_!" He wanted to yell, but he remembered to use his 'inside voice'. "This is a mistake!" He stole of one Kyle's tricks. He was looking at Kyle but directing that last at Brandon. He wanted to pound his fist in the countertop but the glass case was long gone, and he was worried that the cloth covered base would just explode comically into a puff of dust. "Davis would have had them fall back to a secure bunker in _his_ territory. Not advance with more wounded than 'effectives' on to one of Perry's bunkers. Its too dangerous. One of his lieutenants is doing _this_. In a panic."

Kyle seemed to think about it. He was looking at John. "Jorge, when will you be ready to run again?"

"Give me 15," came the reply from corner.

Still looking at John, "get 1st squad together."

Torres, knowing who was being told what. Just nodded, and went to the back room. John could hear the rustle of fabric.

John went back to his place by the wall.

"Tyler get 2nd squad spun up."

She patted Brandon on the shoulder. Nodded to John, and gave a short sharp whistle: "Second squad." It was barely above a whisper. She was drawing a circle in the air with her finger: Rally point.

John crouched down. "Come on. We're up." Beside him curled up on the floor was Allison.

"I know. I heard."

John was excited, this was like his first command. They were going to go into combat against real soldiers, at his suggestion. Out the front of the store, he could see the far ruins glowing pink with the dawn. A black smudge marred the pastel colored sky.

For no reason John could think of, he looked over his shoulder. Kyle was still looking at him. "I'll break the news to 3rd squad," he said. He looked down at the note, still sitting there after all this time. He looked up at John again. His eyes flicked back down to the note. He was reminding him John knew, that lives were at stake. Kyle went to the back room. He could hear him: "Third squad ears up."

They were still more than a half mile from the bunker. Radice hadn't gotten the message in time to block the 'train'. Radice, Kyle and John were crouched behind a pile of rubble.

"That's your plan?" Kyle looked bewildered.

"Yes," John was unable to keep the sound of disappointment out of his voice.

Radice just grinned. "I like it."

"You like it?" John and his father asked in unison.

"Its brilliant!"

"Its sparse," Kyle countered.

"Look at it. It plays to all our strengths, all of our fears." John understood that when Radice said 'our' he was not referring to the platoon, alone, but the human resistance in its entirety.

Kyle looked a 'so' at Radice.

"What would you do if a high ranking officer you didn't know approached you and gave you orders?"

Kyle was looking out at the bunker entrance, finally he said, "I don't know."

"Exactly. You would do _nothing_. Which is what John's plan is banking on. That's a sharp kid you got here," Radice added. "He knows how to play us, better watch yourself, Kyle he'll be after your job next."

"So, you think it'll work?" Kyle asked, ignoring Radice's commentary. He was still looking at the bunker from where they were it looked like a kicked ant hill.

"Of course not. Like as not this time tomorrow we'll all be dead." He was still grinning.

Following John's Plan, they had exchanged BDU tops. They all had different names, now. So they decided to stick with 'ranks'. Allison walked up to John. She was wearing Brandon's top. Her name was now 'Hughes'. She was a 'Sergeant'. "This," she asked. "Was _your_ idea?"

John thought he could detect a hint of skepticism in her voice. As a master of the arts sarcastic, he knew, or thought he did, when not to employ those skills. He judged this as one of those times. "Um, yeah," he said, thinking that given time he could have come up with better.

"You're crazy." She said.

"They approved it!" He gestured towards Kyle, and the cluster of squad leaders who looked as doubtful as Allison sounded. Fortunately she had her back to them. John, knowing a tough fight when he saw one, rallied others to his cause. It didn't matter that they might have sided with her.

"You're _all_ crazy!"

"It will work."

"John Connor, if you get me killed. I will haunt you for the rest of your days."

Looking at that face, hearing that voice, yeah, he thought, you probably will. He just smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

It was full daylight, wounded were lined up out side the bunkers main entrance. More were coming in. Kyle had called it a 'log jam'. Resistance fighters were milling about. They hadn't secured their perimeter. John's first thought was that the bunker's hospital was overwhelmed, then he realized that Davis' troops couldn't get inside.

Kyle was at their lead. He wore Tyler's BDUs. He only had his sidearm. He walked up like he owned the place. First squad was fanned out in front of them, a moving defensive wall. Fourth was doing the same behind them. The squad leaders, John, and Allison were grouped behind Kyle. Beyond fourth squad everyone could plainly see the heavy weapons fire team with their plasma rifles, a clear threat. They got close enough for John to hear someone knocking on the bunker's reinforced door. Someone detached themselves from the door and approached them. They were stopped by someone in first squad. They were brought under guard to Kyle.

"Col. Tyler, sir. This is Lt. Branch." Said Jorge, who was wearing Hill's top.

John saw the man stiffen to attention when he heard 'Colonel'. Branch, smelled of smoke. His uniform was blackened around the knees. There were ugly stains on front and sleeves of his BDUs. He had washed his hands and his face, but his hair looked stiff and scorched.

John's 'suggestions' to Kyle had been simple. The officer will be young. He will be scared. Ask him tough questions. Keep him off balance. When he reveals something hit him hard. Keep him scared.

"Llieutenantt. What the hell is going on here?"

"I'm trying to see to my wounded, sir. But they won't give me access to their bunker."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, sir."

"You don't know?"

"Well, it's complicated, sir."

"Then un-complicate it for me."

"Well, this bunker's one of 130th's, sir."

"I am aware of that soldier."

"I am under Gen. Davis' command, sir."

"What is a company from the 125th doing so far from their assignment areas?"

"Two companies, sir." Branch winced, at this correction.

"Two companies?"

"Yes, sir. What's left of two companies, anyway. We were responding to request of assistance. We got word that there was a major incursion here."

"Incursion? What sort of incursion?"

"The metal sort, sir."

"What happened soldier."

"We were on our way up. When we saw the blast... and Gen Davis ordered us to the 130th supply depot."

"General Davis is with you?"

"He was sir."

"He was?"

"Yes, sir. We were unable to locate him after the explosion at the 130th supply depot, but until that point he was in over all command."

"Of _two_ companies?"

"Well, there were three initially, but he detached the third. Well ahead of our arrival there."

"Where is 'there'?"

"The 130th's HQs, sir. They were being overrun, sir."

"What unit did he send on ahead?"

"It was a security company, sir."

"Didn't you find that to be a little odd. Sending a 'security' company up to fight before the 'combat' companies?"

"Yes, I did sir, but..."

"But, he's a General."

"Yes, sir. Besides two of us were security companies. There was only one combat company present."

"Say again?"

"Sir, my company was only to hold the supply depot once it was secure."

"What about the depot's security detail?"

"We were to reinforce them."

Kyle nodded. "Lieutenant. Did you ever see _metal_."

"No, sir."

"That didn't bother you either?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"We were just late for the 'dance', sir."

Kyle nodded again. "And these wounded?"

"Most are from Alfa Company, 1st battalion. Sir."

"Lt Branch. Do you understand what you have just told me?"

"Sir?"

"You just told me that you were given orders to capture a 'skin' held supply depot, and hold it for other 'skins'."

"No sir, that's not the case, sir."

"Then what is the case?"

"I was instructed to reinforce the security detail at the supply depot."

"And what were Alfa company's orders?"

"To engage the enemy sir."

"But you saw no metal."

"No sir."

"Who blew up the depot soldier?"

"I don't know sir."

"Skin or metal?"

"I don't know sir."

"Who held the depot, soldier?"

"I don't know sir."

"I see. I'm going to have to ask for your sidearm." Kyle held out his hand.

"Sir?"

"Sergeant Reese!"

"Sir!" John stepped up.

"Arrest this man."

"Sir." John walked over to Branch. Who gave him a helpless, almost pleading look. When he saw no help from that quarter he turned back to the 'colonel'.

"Sir, But wait..."

"But nothing!" Kyle hollared at him.

Branch wilted.

"General Perry was concerned for the safety of his command. He asked ME to assist him. I have written orders to that effect." He pulled out the folded and much crumpled note. "My Battalion is out there!" He waved at the horizon. "So unless you want more blood on your hands soldier, surrender your command."

"Sir. I… I can't… Sir." John grabbed Branch by the elbow, he could feel the bandage shift beneath his sleeve. The Lt. flinched. Kyle turned away to talk to 'Captain' Radice, who was really Tyler. "Wait! Sir! Wait. Goldman!" Branch called over his shoulder, "Sergeant Goldman!"

"Sir?" A man in a make shift stretcher not ten feet away replied. His chest was wrapped, his face and arms were bandaged with what looked like strips of his own clothing.

"Lay… lay down your arms." By the time he said 'arms' Branch's voice had cracked.

The man banged his head on the ground, and shook it, three times. John couldn't even imagine the anguish on his unseen face. "Jolly?"

"Here, sarge." Said the man, boy really, sitting cross legged beside him.

"Go tell them. Tell them, we are laying down arms." Jolly nodded, then got up and ran back along the long train of wounded.

John looked at the man, as he lay, on his back he seemed to sag even farther, almost sinking into the stretcher.

"Sergeant. Sergeant?"

"Sir!" John remembered that he was the sergeant now.

"You can release that man."

"Sir!" He said to Kyle, and "Sorry," he said to Branch. He meant about the surrender, not grabbing his wound.

"I'm sorry too." Branch sat down right were he was and wept. He pulled out his sidearm and handed it upto John.

Kyle and the rest approached the bunker's entrance. Kyle was talking to the door. There was a scrapping sound, then two muffled bangs, as they shot bolts back, and the door screeched open.

And just like that. Inside of 15 minutes without a shot fired, and no, additional, loss of life. John won his first victory.

The bunker's CO with surprising swiftness converted the 'firing' range into a detention center and field hospital. Triage was being done above ground. It seemed the easiest way of doing it. They sent down the worse first.

The platoon was in the cafeteria. They were given water and 20 minutes to 'rest'. A bunker runner had been dispatched to bring third squad in. Afterwards they would be broken up by 'teams' to help guard and process the prisoners. There were more than twice as many prisoners as the bunkers security company. Still their tables were close to the stairs, the ones the prisoners were using to get to the firing range. The group coming down now, were on stretchers. The stretcher bearers were mostly from the hospital, some staffers' even some the hospitals own 'walking' wounded.

Some of the bunkers civilian staff would pass with trays of water and 'bread'. For the prisoner's John guessed. Many of them waved. Some clapped him on the shoulder. He even got a couple of hugs. The bunker's CO, an older man named Weintraub, even stopped by, however briefly to personally thank him.

Allison leaned close, their shoulders touching she was sitting to his immediate right. "Stop it."

"What?" He asked just as another 'staffer' passed waving at him.

"You're grinning like an idiot."

The rules, John remembered. He took stock of himself and the situation. He was sitting high in his folding chair, back straight, grinning 'like an idiot'. He slouched down into it, hunched over his water. With his left hand he ran his fingers through his hair. What he wouldn't give for a shower, and then pressed his thumb and his forefinger to his forehead. This had two effects it covered his name, and it gave him the appearance of exhaustion that he saw in most everyone else in the platoon. It was exhaustion that John, despite his lack of sleep and food, in no way felt. He sipped his water. He turned his head, so that his hand was at the back of his neck now, as if rubbing away fatigue or sore muscles. Over his own shoulder he was looking at Allison. "Thank you."

She leaned back in her chair stretched her legs out under the table, closed her eyes to the ceiling and whispered back: "You're welcome."

Beyond Allison, screened by her until she leaned back, sitting at the head of the table, John saw Kyle. Staring at him, it was obvious to John that he had seen his transformation. Questions, John knew, would follow.

There were a lot of wounded; Many with burns, others with assorted blast injuries. All with the soul crushing wounds of surrender. John and Allison had been stationed near the stairs, one level down from their 'quarters'.

He watched them as they shuffled passed. Most not even looking up to see where they were going. His initial elation was tempered now with the heartsickness he felt when he looked into their faces. He held his weapon across his chest. He wasn't trying to provoke anything he was just trying to cover his name. He might have to lead these people someday.

After nearly two hours, the prisoner's were confined. Their surrendered weapons were stowed, and secure. The large firing range was full. The side closest the stair was the hospital. It was separated from the other prisoners with tables. A purely psychological barrier, but it worked. There was security on the landing and at the top of the stair, though they expected no trouble.

John was in his bunk. He was staring at the bottom of Allison's. He had been doing so for most of half an hour. As he watched the bunk shifted. Long brown hair and a face appeared, upside down, to his left.

"John."

His only response was to turn his head and look at her.

"They're alive, John. You did that."

He just stared.

"How far are we from the front," Allison asked.

John had no idea.

The head vanished. Booted feet, and he felt the bunk shift as she dropped herself to the floor. She was standing beside him, looking down. "Ten miles? Twelve miles? How far is that for an Ogre? Or a Centaur?"

Again, John had no idea. He knew next to nothing about his enemy, his tactics, and his capabilities. He knew nothing of the situation beyond what he could see at any given moment. This was a liability that he would have to correct.

"That's a wrong turn for an aerial HK," Allison continued, not knowing that she had just sent more gears churning. "They were out there, in full daylight. It would only have been a matter of time, before they brought metal down on themselves and this bunker."

He nodded, but otherwise made no response. He knew the last part. He needed a clearer tactical picture, but first things first. What he needed to figure out now. Was how he was going to get the prisoners to fight for _him_.

He wanted to go down there; to talk to them, to listen to them. He needed to recruit them. He couldn't risk going down there himself. "I need to talk to Kyle."

Allison nodded, and walked away. Less than a minute later, she was back. "Come on."

Kyle was in the CO's office. Allison took him there. She didn't seem happy at all that he said he needed to talk to Kyle alone. He waited in the hall until they were done. The door opened. John stiffened to attention looking at Kyle. They were both leaving. Weintraub smiled at him and walked off to the right.

"John? Is something wrong? Do you need something," Kyle asked as he turned to the left back towards the stairs. John turned to walk beside him.

"I need those prisoners. _We_ need those prisoners." John said as they walked.

"What do you mean?" The stairs were empty it was daytime most of the bunker would be sleeping.

"We need them. They are soldiers. They _fight_. Recruit them. Send Radice he'll know what to say." Kyle had stopped on the landing.

"John."

John turned and looked at a man, perhaps ten years older than him, who was also his father.

"Who are you, John? What are you? Four days ago, you recommend we turn on enemies roughly five times our number, and we beat them. Which is fine, we had surprise, terrain, training and luck on our side. This morning you plan us a way to capture a bunker, and take 10 times as many prisoners as we have soldiers. And now you want me to recruit those prisoners?"

John couldn't think of anything else to say: "Yes."

Kyle nodded. "When I talk to you I feel like you are three steps ahead of me." He waited, when he got no response, he continued. "I've been a soldier most of my life, but I don't think at 16 I could have done what you do. I don't think _now_, I could do what you do. Derek, told me not to worry about it. With Derek…"

Gone, John filled in for himself.

"I'm in command now. I have to _worry_ about it. Do you even know what Weintraub and I were talking about in there?"

"No," John answered, glad to have a question that he could answer.

"No," Kyle agreed. "You wouldn't, because you weren't there, but we were discussing this very thing. He suggested one of his people. I suggested Radice."

John nodded. "Is his guy better than Radice?"

"I don't know."

"Then use Radice."

"What, do you know _their_ guy?" Kyle asked this in a way that suggested that he would not have been surprised if John said: Yes.

"No, but I know Radice."

Kyle nodded. "You know, John. You never answer any of my questions."

John didn't know what to say. So he just stood there. Kyle just stared at him.

"Dismissed, soldier. Get back to quarters and get some rest. We'll head out when the reinforcements get here."

"Thank you." Belatedly he added, "Sergeant." He went down the rest of the stairs, and wasn't surprised at all to see Allison waiting for him at the bottom. They walked back together, in silence.

They were sitting on his bunk again, side by side, but not close. "You heard," John asked.

"Yes."

"What do you…" John never finished his question. Tyler walked past and had smiled at him. I guess I _am_ a hero, he thought to himself. Out loud he said: "Why isn't Tyler down stairs helping with the wounded?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"I figured they could use every medic they could get their hands on."

"They could, that's why they have Brandon and Torres."

"I heard that Tyler was our medic."

"Tyler? Who told you that?"

Tyler drawn by the sound of her name, appeared.

She nodded at them. "Young. Connor."

Without turning her head Allison said, "Someone told John you were our medic."

Tyler held up her left hand, the one with only the thumb and the forefinger, reminding him of her handicap. She looked at it. "Have a hard enough time with mah laces, can't imagine bandages and stitches."

"So… you weren't an EMT before the J-day?"

Tyler laughed. "Someone's bin pullin' your leg! Ah was recruited from up in 'da hills' as you city folk say."

Unable to stop himself John asked her, "you're one of the 'hill people'?"

"John? Where else does someone get a knife scar like that one?" Allison added.

Tyler turned her head and smiled adding, John thought undo emphasis to the injury. "One of mah uncle's made advances. Ah said 'no'. This was _his_ reply. Ah joined up aftah his son's decided that mah counter offer was too harsh." Tyler's smile already, disconcerting, carried the suggestion that her 'counter offer' had been terminal.

Allison continued, as if Tyler's aside has been just that, an aside. "Besides Tyler's may be five years older than us."

Then something clicked in John's head. He signed: Stop.

Tyler laughed again, but signed: okay, and said out loud " 'Ah was an EMT' that's a funny! If you all got any more jokes. Ah'll be in mah bunk." She walked off but circled around, quietly.

"What", signed Allison.

"Nothing", John signed one letter at a time, he waved them both off. "I need to think", he painstakingly spelled out. As Allison stood he rolled into his bunk and stared at the bottom of hers. He stood up, he remembered something. With his finger to his lips he looked at Allison. She was about to climb up into her bunk. "Did you and Dave ever argue?" John signed. He needed to expand his vocabulary; signing one letter at a time was tedious.

"No. Wait. Once. Staged." Allison signed back.

"Staged?"

"Yes. Explain later. Why are we using sign?"

John signed "metal" and then cupped his left hand to his left ear: "Metal listening," he thought it was a very clever joke.

After breakfast, Radice gathered the platoon in the 'common' area. Kyle was pacing, the rest sat in front of him, waiting. "I need volunteers." He stopped and turned towards them. "I need 6 people, to help me take John, out to the 'eastern' sector." He looked down at his boots kicked at something only he could see. "I know that many of you want to go back to Headquarters to help with any possible rescue. I will be leaving you in the capable hands of Corporal Torres. I ask for volunteers only because this 'task' exceeds your duties as resistance fighters. Any takers?"

John was surprised to see that Brandon volunteered, two of his heavy weapons squad had joined him. Allison and Tyler also joined up. John was happy they spent a lot of time together. Jorge had also volunteered, again no surprise. John had suspicions, but would need more evidence before he could consider any actions. Radice and Dalia had wanted to come, but Kyle had said 'no' to both. They would be needed here, besides John had other uses for Radice.

They slept another day , stayed the next night gathering supplies, and woke late the next afternoon. Two companies had arrived while they slept; one a pretty beat up combat unit, the other was 'scratch' security company, made up of security platoons from four nearby bunkers. At breakfast, Jorge excused himself and told them he would meet them topside. John, wasn't the only person to notice. Dalia was signing furiously to a runner that John didn't know. John was trying to remember if Jorge had entered the bunker with them the two days ago. He wasn't sure. He also couldn't place Jorge at all that first day, but that could be fatigue, or just their work 'assignments'.

John caught Allison's eye. Glanced towards Dalia.

She watched. Then just nodded at John. Later, she signed.

Kyle and his squad of volunteers were waiting in line at the supply room. John was at the back of the line, thinking about: The 'Jorge problem' as he dubbed it; The 'Cameron problem'; The 'Allison situation', he didn't want to call it a 'problem'; and the 'Army procurement problem', when he heard Allison gasp. Distracted, his reactions weren't nearly quick enough and he caught an elbow, in the ribs. "What," he managed to ask.

"Look." She said staring at the supply office.

"What?" He looked from her to counter. He saw nothing unusual.

"Look!" Allison insisted.

He did, and he saw. There above the supply office's clerk's head. He was so glad it wasn't Kemper. Was a polished wooden plaque bolted to it was an oddly shaped dark mass, that resolved itself into a chunk of a 'boot heel', _his_ boot heel. Below the 'heel' was a metal plate etched into its surface, crudely, but neatly, John read this:

John Connor

Wore this boot heel during a

Skirmish on "Connor's Ridge"

Where he repelled a determined

'Hill people' assault.

Date: August 20, 2025

Unit: 130th SOC (detached)

Location: Unknown

John just stared at it. They had even etched in the lion with the terminator head in its jaws.

"Ahem." Someone said behind him. At first John thought that line had moved and he had missed it, but it hadn't. He looked behind him. He was an older man, probably in his forties, certainly with the exception of Weintraub, the oldest person he had met, so far in the future. His hair was streaked with silver. He was tall, tall as John, but lanky. "I couldn't help but notice your _friend_'s reaction. Might you be, _that_ Connor?" He nodded towards the 'plaque'.

The rules, John thought, but how would he ever lead them, if they didn't know who he was. "Yes, I'm John Connor."

The man's face broke into a grin, a huge grin. "Sir," he said as he took John's hand in both of his. "I'm, Lieutenant Kilpatrick, 3rd Battalion, Bravo Company." He nodded towards the plaque, again. "With the 130th, and I am damned glad to finally make your acquaintance." He leaned in close, spoke just barely over his own breathing. "Some of _them_ doubted, but I believed. I always _believed_." He leaned back out. "Thank you, sir. For givin' an old vet'ran a reason to keep fightin'." The man, still grinning walked away.

"What?" The word had formed on John's lips, but he never said it, he turned to look at Allison. Her face was neutral. She was not surprised by this encounter, and she was obviously not at all pleased by it.


	7. Chapter 7

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 7

The Priest-

Brandon wasn't happy. John wondered if he ever was. Kyle had split up his fire team volunteers. It only made sense. There were eight of them. Three were current or former runners. The 'runners' grouped together would easily outpace the fire team members. The first group was Tyler, Brandon, Hernandez, and Jorge. The second was Kyle, Hill, Allison and John. They ran. They were moving south.

At their first rest stop, Allison approached John. She opened her mouth to speak. John put his finger to his lips, and then tapped his ear.

Her eyes widened, there was fear there. "Here?" She signed.

John grinned, almost laughed, the sign for 'here' was very reminiscent of someone crudely miming breast, and John was, after all, a teen-aged boy. He just nodded.

Allison noticed his grin, and stuck her tongue out at him, and used the military hand sign for 'child'. John grabbed her shoulders and positioned himself between her and Jorge. She glanced past him, made eye contact with John and nodded. She moved her hands down, shielding further their conversation. "Something. Wrong." She paused.

She was, John guessed, picking her words knowing how limited his vocabulary was.

One he didn't know. "Building. Broken."

He signed back a question mark, and repeated "building" and "broken".

She looked at him thinking. She smiled, and tapped the top of her wrist. Repeated again: 'building' and 'broken'. 

John thought: Something. Wrong. Time. Building. Broken. "Something has been wrong since HQ explosion." John nodded.

Tyler and her group took off, with them went Jorge.

After ten more minutes. Kyle whistled them over. John leaned over as they gathered at the steps, and whispered: "Be careful."

Allison looked at him, nodded and signed: "Always."

As dawn began to lighten the sky they stopped at a bunker called Foxtrot 8. They weren't far from downtown here. Somewhere to their south and west was the Zeira Corp building. With a last look John caught the tops of the broken towers lit by the sun.

Kyle went to talk to bunker's CO. The look on Brandon's face told him that this was not something that happened often. John and the rest were sent to the showers, this bunker had warm water, and a note telling him 'not to drink it'. In the 'cafeteria' John noticed that this bunker didn't have the sloping floors of a parking deck. The 'floors' weren't nearly as broad as a parking deck, either. He liked it from most anywhere in the 'dining hall' he could see the stairs.

Dinner was venison stew with but with rice, not barley. There was something else different. Onions or garlic may be. John's mom had never been much of a cook the use of seasonings always intrigued him. Kyle joined them late. Brandon leaned in to ask him a question. Kyle just waved him off. They went to 'Guest housing'.

They slept, in John's case, poorly. He had too many thoughts in his head. Too much was happening too fast, and his grasp of the situation seemed far too tenuous. The one thing he understood plainly was that he was running again. They woke had their usually soupy 'Breakfast' and were off again, at dusk.

The terrain was changing again, it was subtle. The buildings were still empty shells and rubble piles, but they were somehow different. By the time they made their first rest stop John had figured it out. Impact craters, there were none here. There were no piles of bones. There were even plants growing in the cracks of sidewalks and streets. There had been no heavy fighting here. They were in another "no man's land".

At their second rest stop, they ate. There was no bunker here. This was the first time, since they came back from the mountains that they ate in the 'field'. This time when they left Kyle's group was up front, and Allison lead them.

They took a third rest stop. Allison signed to Kyle. "Something. Wrong."

Kyle signed back. "?"

"No. Metal."

John thought about that. It wasn't entirely true, but in any case why would the 'lack' of metal be an issue? Did Skynet routinely patrol this area? Or have things changed this much since Allison had last passed through here?

When the second group arrived Kyle relayed the message. They took off again. This got John thinking too, it would be dawn soon.

They stopped a fourth time the building if it could called that was open to the sky. When Tyler's group arrived, Kyle spread them out to form a perimeter. Allison said not to. "Stay close," she said. She went to one corner of the building and, tapped a complicated tattoo on an exposed pipe with flat of her knife. They looked at her. "We wait." John found a semi comfortable looking support for the missing roof. He sat down beside it. Allison sat beside him. The code sounded familiar to John. So he played over and over in his head. Then he realized it was a song. He looked at Allison, "La Bamba?"

She smiled, "they used to play it a lot down in Baja."

They were there twenty minutes it was bright enough to see colors. Kyle seemed on edge. John didn't think it was because they were so exposed. Brandon, on the other hand, didn't seem his usually annoying self. He hadn't made a single complaint. He seemed almost relaxed. From the pipe, not three feet away, was a series of taps, too fast for John to follow. Allison stood up she said, "Keep your hands away from your weapons, please. They are here."

It was a boy, in a threadbare too large t-shirt, which depicted a cartoonish grim reaper riding a motor cycle. His pants were cut off BDU bottoms. He had a red bandana tied around his neck, and an AK, that John could not imagine him shooting without being knocked down. His skin was dark, his hair a spiky mass. He glared at them. Then his face broke into a smile. "Allison!"

There was a muffled slapping sound. "Estupido! Why don't you just send Skynet an invitation?" A slightly larger and older boy said in Spanish. They were obviously siblings. He was much more serious. He continued to glare at them, but he nodded his 'hola' to Allison.

"Who is stupid now," continued the younger boy in Spanish. He was rubbing the back of his head. "Smell you're hand I haven't bathed in two weeks!"

Then a taller man appeared. "Allison," he said by way of greeting. To everyone else he nodded and said, "Let's go." It was Enrique, but an Enrique ten years younger, then John had ever known him. He noticed John's stare. He put out his hand. "John? Roberto," he introduced himself. They shook hands, John mechanically. "I've heard so much about you. I'm so glad to finally meet you." His English was free of any accent. Unlike Enrique, he had been born and raised here. "We have to get going. Sorry it took so long, but the truck." He switched into a pantomime Hispanic accent: "He would no start." He grinned at them.

It _was_ a truck. Just a pick up with a flatbed made of scrap wood, and pipes. Roberto, Alex, and Allison sat in the cab. As punishment for not bathing Esteban was stuck with the rest of them in the back. When he discovered John spoke Spanish, even with his 'horrible accent'. He would not stop talking. His rifles name was 'Tigre' it was scratched into its wooden stock. They hit a bump and John looked over his shoulder, through the glassless window into the cab. Allison was watching him, smiling. She mimed a hand puppet, and pointed at Esteban.

'Great,' John mouthed back silently. Esteban was explaining to him in some detail how, when he was old enough to fight, he and 'Tigre' were going to teach the metal a thing or two.

They arrived at a place called Lakewood Bunker. It was similar in many respects to the Bunkers John had been to before, except this bunker had more than just an entrance above ground. They passed through 3 layers of chain link fencing. He looked at the broad smooth voids between the fences. There was at least fifty feet between each layer. There were signs 'peligroso' on either side of the unpaved road. He looked at Kyle. Who mouthed back 'mines'. At the corners of the large square were short squat towers, they only just cleared the fifteen feet, John guessed, tall fences. John noticed that though there were lights, and a roof, there didn't seem to be space for guards.

He looked at the fencing. Unless those were antitank mines they would not have kept Cameron out. He had seen firsthand how little effect a claymore had on metal. He looked up at the open sky he thought about the satellites that they had taken such pains to conceal themselves from. He thought about Aerial HKs. He saw nothing to defend against either. He looked around at the wide parade grounds. Nothing protruded above the surface. Inside the fence were slit trenches. Rifle pits? The truck passed between two half moon shaped pits. They were set well inside the fence. In one he saw a hatch. It could be service from below. Convenient, but it implied that someone on top could get access to the inside. What or who, more than likely, were they expecting to be attacked by? Massed infantry?

Recessed into the ground but not underground was what John could only call a 'motor pool'. There were fifteen or twenty assorted vehicles here was the missing camouflage netting. As he stood he looked at the other vehicles, he was lingering, intentionally trying to be the last person off the truck. Many like this truck had an upright pipe in the back. He looked at it. It was a weapons mount. As he stepped down he looked back at the cab, yes, there was a roll cage. He smiled at the thought. Walking away from the truck John did a quick headcount. He was one short. In one corner he saw what could only be trailers for heavy mortars. Good. They went underground.

They entered a hallway, ahead were a pair of large double doors. There were four armed men and two dogs. The dogs were not the German shepherd dogs preferred by the Human Resistance in the 'western' sector, but Pit Bulls. Red nose pits to be exact. They stopped in front of the doors. John noticed they were in a rectangle bounded by yellow and black stripes, as wide as the hall and may be 15 feet deep. Two of the guards and one of the dogs were at the far end facing out. A bell rang, and strobes inset in the walls flashed. Behind them was a 'thump'. The room was briefly plunged into darkness. "Please stand clear of the doors", someone said in heavily accented English. Pale slightly blue lights lit the room. John turned to look. Heavily reinforced doors had closed he could see where they had been recessed into the walls. John looked around. He did another head count, and still was not happy with results. He put his closed fist out to the dog at the doors ahead of them. Its tail thumped happily. From the thick and heavily spiked collar hung a small metal tag that said, 'Daisy'. Another bell rang, muffled by the closed doors. Again the strobes flashed. The inner doors opened towards them. The pale lights switched off.

Directly ahead of them was the armory. They walked up to it. Roberto and the two boys checked in their weapons. Without comment both Allison and Brandon checked their weapons in, the rest waited on Kyle's cue. John just stared. Behind the Hispanic woman at the counter was a wall mounted rack of chargers. There was space for 50 walkie talkies. Roberto misunderstood his stare. "Don't worry John we are pretty strict about their usage. Mostly un-coded traffic and maintenance work. We keep the encrypted line-of-sight communications equipment secured down in the vault.

John just nodded. He looked at the back of Allison's head. Why did they need runners if they had radios? "Line-of-sight" Roberto had said. Geography, he thought, the tumbled buildings, the debris fields, anything much more than a block away would be out of range.

They were taken to 'guest housing'. It had its own showers. John kept looking around. He had other reasons, but he noticed things; this bunker didn't have the modular walls of the other bunkers and like the foxtrot bunker they visited it didn't have the sloping floors. This was no parking deck.

He thought about the 'air lock'. The building was neat and tidy. More than clean, he had seen no holes cut into the walls. There were no loose wires strung along the ceiling, no bare bulbs, or dangling fluorescent tubes to duck under. No aging posters on the walls advertising; soft drinks, TV shows, or movies. There were functional vents in the walls. This bunker had been purpose built. The thought awed him.

He took his shower. They had given him new BDUs with his name on them. They still smelled of mothballs. He went back to his bunk to pack his old BDUs when he noticed that their 'lost sheep' had returned.

"Jorge." John said, as he sat on his own bunk. "Did you get lost?"

Jorge was sitting on the opposite bunk he was still wearing his old faded and frayed BDU top. "This is certainly a large facility." He smiled. John studied it. It looked right, but then 'looks' are something, it would be good at. The name tag said: "J. Miraflor." It bothered John that he never noticed it before.

"So, Tyler is our medic?" John asked smiling.

And right on cue, Jorge, also smiling replied, "I was pulling your leg."

John gave a quick glance around. They were alone. He leaned in close he opened his mouth to speak.

Jorge leaned in, and cut him off. "I was _pulling_ your leg, John." There was something in his smile this time. Not really a threat, just a warning. "Remember that, I was _pulling_ your leg."

John leaned back, "right." He wasn't smiling anymore.

Allison walked in. "John, there you are." Her sentence started out enthusiastically enough but ended weak. And then as if nothing was wrong, "hey Jorge!"

"Hey, Allison," Jorge responded, still smiling, but he never looking away from John.

"Um, we're all out in the 'common' Roberto is waiting to take us to dinner."

They were fed chicken, not venison. John was surprised that no one else noticed Jorge's return. He also decided that Allison was quite the actor. The dining area was loud, far louder than any John had previously visited. Their own table was quiet. John could plainly see the look of disapproval on Kyle's face. Roberto was eating with them. He was quiet as well. He spoke only to Brandon, and leaned close when he did so. The cafeteria had obvious three access points. John felt uncomfortable with his back to the kitchens. That's where the food line was. He had no idea what was behind the kitchens themselves, his eyes shifted from entrance to entrance. He said not a word.

Afterwards they headed back to the 'guest quarters' to sleep. The rooms were very similar in layout to the 'Company' billets at the Delta seven bunker there was a common area and a room for each platoon. Even though they were only the size of a single squad they were given an entire… 'Suite' was the only word John could think of.

John didn't sleep very well, there was too much to think about. On top of everything else what he saw here bothered him. Perhaps it was a 'rear' area. But if this bunker was purpose built, then what was the purpose? They had radios. They had functioning electronic devices. The guard towers _had_ to be remotely operated. That meant close circuit television which in John's mind implied that the other surface defenses were or could easily be isolated from the rest of the bunker. That made more sense. One thing John knew for certain, this bunker had not been designed to fight machines. The only conciliation had seen for a cyborg were the airlock doors, and unless the gun ports he saw in there were backed by plasma rifles, then all they could hope to do was isolate it.

Roberto came back for them that afternoon. He had only given them about six hours, which was fine with John he had, may be, slept two. He escorted them to breakfast. When they were finished Roberto asked Kyle if he and the rest of the squad could return to their quarters. The bunker CO would like to meet with John and Allison.

The office was fifteen feet by thirty feet. There was only one entrance. Along one wall was a series of filling cabinets. Opposite this were a small book shelf and a pair of matching chairs. They faced each other, as if a low table and a chess set were missing. At the far end was a tidy desk. There were no pictures. No name plate. Over which was hung a map of Los Angeles. John took all this in from the doorway. Allison took his hand, and drew him farther into the room. It occurred to him then, that they were alone. This would probably be his only chance.

The door was open but John could not expect any more privacy than this. She turned him so that he faced the door. He smiled that she knew him well enough to give him that. It wasn't the first time. He noticed it when she picked out their bunks at the Delta seven bunker.

It made him feel bad for what he was about to do. Her hands were on either side of his face. She smiled. He smiled back. His hands were on her waist. She leaned in to kiss him. He leaned away. Her face had a puzzled look.

Things where moving, and he needed to understand, he need to know where peoples allegiances were. He was still stung by the mistakes he had made with Riley. He wasn't going to do that again. So with as much scorn as he could muster he said. "Did _she_ put you up to this?"

There was a loud crack. "John Connor! Do not talk about your mother in that fucking tone!"

He had expected a response, but the ferocity caught him off guard.

"_She_ didn't 'put me up to this'! _You_ did! _You_ did this!" She yelled at him. He was stunned. When she had wept for lost friends she did so, so softly he doubted anyone more than ten feet away would have noticed. "You're the one who walked into a fucking bunker and told the whole damned world:" She deepened her voice here, put her arms on her hips, stuck out her chest, posing like some comic book superhero and said: "I'm John Connor. I'm the fucking savior of man fucking kind!"

"Allison Young. How many times have we talked about your temper?" The voice came from the open door and had a noticeable Spanish accent.

The change was sudden and dramatic. Before her head dropped, John saw the look of disappointment on her face. Not directed at the speaker, but at herself. The door closed.

"I'm sorry, Father."

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to John."

"I'm sorry, John."

"I'm sorry, too." His hand was still on his cheek where she had slapped him.

"Buenos dias, John." The priest said from the door.

"Buenos dias, Father." He was in all black; he had his 'roman collar' on. He still wore a beard. Peppered now like his hair with almost as much silver as black. There were more lines, but the eyes were the most different more care worn, may be a little tired.

"Come Allison, come. It has been a long time since we spoke." He had his hand out to her. She was still facing the wrong way but turned and walked to the chairs.

And John understood. His mother had never been religious, but he had spent enough time in Catholic countries to recognize a confessional. He only now noticed the crucifix above the door. There was nowhere to go. The room was small the door was shut. He didn't think they wanted him wandering the halls. He retreated to the desk, and the map.

He looked up at the map, to at least give the appearance that he wasn't listening. It _was_ a Metro system map, and someone had gone through the effort of hand painting on a large piece of acrylic, which had been bolted to the wall.

"Bless me Father for I have sinned. This is my first confession in 6 months."

"Has it been so long," Father Bonilla interrupted.

"Yes, Father. I've tried to come out this way, but…"

"But the war," he finished for her. "Remember Allison, what good is winning the war, if the cost is you're immortal soul?" It reminded John of a conversation he had had with his mother, on his birthday. "This is our mission, John. If we forget that, then we are lost."

"I've missed mass," Allison confessed.

Another layer of acrylic was on top of the map. On this was painted a grid, across the top were the 'ordinals' 1-9. Down along the left side were the letters A-M. John smiled whoever had painted the grid had embellished the open ends with curlicues. They reminded him of hand painted pin stripping.

"I've lost my temper," Allison said.

John traced his passage: From Downtown, they didn't have the 'inset' detail map of downtown, to the Golf seven bunker, the Foxtrot nine bunker, and then north east off the map to see Martin.

"Many times," the priest asked.

"Many times," she agreed.

"Like today?"

"No Father, most times I can keep it inside."

"But you still have angry thoughts."

"Yes, Father."

John traced their journey back through the suburbs to the Delta seven bunker and then 'guestimated' the locations of the 130th's headquarters and supply depot. That right, there, he guessed was the crater where he and Allison had kissed.

"Were these thoughts more recent or months ago," the priest asked. John found his voice to be soothing, almost hypnotic.

"More recently," Allison conceded.

"Why?"

"_He_ can be so infuriating!" Allison hissed. John was no longer 'soothed'.

"Allison," the priest said calming her.

"I'm sorry, Father."

John refocused on the map he traced their route, from the Delta seven bunker to the smaller Foxtrot eight bunker to here: Lockwood. Somewhere off the map to the east. May be, over by the file cabinets, would be the desert, and his mother. Then his eyes wandered back across L.A. over to the coast: to Long Beach and to Cameron.

"Anything else?"

"I've had impure thoughts."

John almost coughed he had to stop himself from turning around. He decided to examine the maps very ornate compass rose. He leaned in. It was very nice.

"I see. Anything else?"

"No, Father."

"You're 'act of contrition'."

Allison recited by rote: "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you…"

John missed rest of Allison's recitation, and most of the priest's response when he turned to his left. Painted on the wall, was a 'Table of Organization'. It listed, down to companies. The units and their commanders, of the 'Eastern Sector' of the human resistance, it listed two divisions. There had been some corrections, but according to the date, the 'table' was almost thirteen years old. Attrition, he guessed.

As his gazed reached the top of the chart, his head went light, and his knees buckled, he thought he might faint. He caught himself on the edge of the desk. Someone gasped, and it took him a moment to realize it had been himself. Right there, literally, in front of God, and everyone:

"In over all command: John Connor".

He just stared. He couldn't move. He couldn't blink. Behind him, as if nothing at all had happened Allison's confession came to a close. He regained his composure, sort of.

"Allison for your penance: For missing Mass ten Hail Mary's; for striking John, twenty more; for cursing another ten."

"Thank you, Father."

John felt the priest stepped up behind him. "It is every impressive, no?"

Allison prayed: "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

"Very," John said it was barely a breath it was all he could do.

"We don't include the 'western sectors' division as we have only nominal control over it and its actions."

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

John just nodded, but he remembered that all of the brigades in the 'west' were numbered beginning with '1' (125th, and the 130th). He couldn't believe that it was entirely coincidental that all of the 2nd division brigades started with a '2' and that all of the 3rd division brigades started with a '3'.

He turned his head and looked at Father Bonilla and said, "But you _do_ supply them."

"Hail Mary…"

The priest looked down from the chart. "How did you know?"

"They are very," he thought for second for a polite word. "Independent and contentious, in the 'west', but they are also very similar. They all have the same uniforms. They eat the same food. They use the same weapons. They have to get them from the same place. They have to get them from you."

"…full of grace…"

The priest just gave him a wry smile.

A hand gripped his shoulder and turned him to the map. The priest traced an arc that started near the coast, far to the north it bowed out north of downtown and curved back inland just south and east of downtown. "The western sector," he said.

"…the Lord is with thee…"

"What is the disposition of the 'west'?"

The priest circled an irregular area centered near downtown. "The 130th," he said "under Perry." Slightly north of that and west was "the 125th under Davis", farther west and north was "the 143rd under Tran" he tapped the map as he said the name John found his emphasis here odd. The 143rd was at the center of the arc, almost due north, was "the 117th under Bell", and at the far end nearest Serrano Point was "the 158th under Wills."

"…blessed are you…

There was a gap two grid squares wide, perhaps 10 miles, then he traced a rectangle. "The eastern sector," he said. John noticed it was well west of Lockwood.

"…and blessed is the fruit…"

His hand traced a line perhaps 5 miles deep along the entire coast: "Metal."

John looked at him, "metal? _Not_ Skynet?"

The priest smiled. "They told me you were smart! Something strange has been happening for two weeks now. The metal fight with metal."

"Holy Mary…"

John thought back two weeks ago he was on his way north to meet Martin.

"What happened to Martin?" He was still looking at the map.

"Martin?" The priest seemed to think. "Martin _Beddel_?"

"…Mother of God…"

"Yes."

"You've been to see him?"

John didn't respond it seemed obvious to him that Martin had not come down to see him.

"Your mother will not be happy to hear that."

"…pray for us…"

"Why not," John asked trying not sound like a child who snuck out to meet a friend nobody liked, but there it was.

For the first time, Father Bonilla seemed uncomfortable. "There were problems with his 'organization'," he said softly.

"…at the hour of…"

"What do you mean his 'organization'?"

"There were security problems with his 'cell'." The priest reiterated.

"Wait. I don't understand. What do you mean by 'his cell?' "

"Amen."

"He didn't tell you?" The priest seemed to consider this. "After all these years…" he said to himself. He looked at John. "I never thought the problem was malice. You see, I thought Martin was just too trusting, too open. I always thought the problem was his wife. They were supposed to be on 'birth control'…" He misinterpreted John's confused look. "I know, but you can only tell them so many times. If they won't listen then they won't." He continued "…when they had their 'inconveniently timed' child." The priest crossed himself.

John interrupted before the priest could go on. "All Martin told me was that he and some classmates, and their families tried to wait out Judgment Day in the woods."

Father Bonilla just looked at him. "Allison."

"I'm sorry, Father. 'Hail Mary…'"

"He didn't tell you about: Ellison; About his 'cell'; About Abilene?"

"Ellison? James Ellison, the F.B.I. agent?" John was really confused now.

"Former agent," the priest corrected. He sat down on the edge of his desk.

"…blessed is the fruit…"

"Your mother put Ellison in charge of 'eastern operations'."

"What?"

"He had family in the east," the pries said by way of explanation. "And so he had a ready excuse to travel out that way. We didn't want to raise undue suspicion."

"What?"

"All contacts had to be face to face. There was evidence that the internet had been compromised."

"Jesus."

"What?"

"Some argued that 'cell phones' _should_ be safe, but your mother didn't trust them. At one point we fell back to letter writing, but secure encryption against a foe like Skynet proved cumbersome with pen and paper."

"Holy Mary…"

"Wait. Stop." He almost said: 'Time out' but he caught himself. There were so many thoughts scampering around his head. He picked the one that stood out the most. "Ellison and my mom worked together?"

"…Mother of God…"

Father Bonilla smiled. "There were… disagreements."

John just nodded, he almost smiled. Whenever his mother was involved there were 'disagreements'. He was pretty certain she could disagree with herself.

"Amen."

Without turning, the priest said: "Don't rush Allison. We will still be here when you are done."

"Thank you, Father. Hail Mary…"

"Please, Father. I need to understand. Start at the beginning."

The priest explained: Ellison had set up cells throughout the eastern seaboard. Each three person cell operated independently. Only one person in each cell knew Ellison, or even knew why they were performing their assigned tasks. Still John recognized the risk the former agent had been taking.

"What was Martin's cells mission?"

"Each member of his cell had their own mission. They were unrelated. It seemed safest. Martin's task was to rent, and then secure a warehouse. He was the only person in his 'cell' who knew its location."

"Abilene."

"Yes. Abilene."

"And Skynet nuked it."

"Yes. Allison, once more and I add another decade."

"I'm sorry, Father. 'Hail Mary…'"

"What was in that warehouse?"

The priest looked away shaking his head. "Pharmaceuticals, drugs," he said finally.

John sighed. "It wouldn't have mattered would it?"

"Blessed is the fruit…"

He looked up at John, "for Martin? No, they would have been long out of date or spent by the time he got 'sick' but they could have helped so many others."

"…of thy womb…"

"Were the rest of his cells' tasks successful?"

"Oh, yes. We have automobiles because of them. One of them purchased large numbers of automobile computer modules. The other bought huge quantities of powdered milk. The modules were sunk in the Sea of Cortez, inside shipping containers. The milk, I think was stored in salt mines in Nevada."

"How could they afford to do that? They were soldiers."

"Holy…"

"They couldn't but Zeira Corp. could."

John just blinked at him. "Zeira Corp?"

"Ellison became Savannah Weaver's legal guardian. They liquidated Zeira Corp. and used the money to build 'the resistance'."

"…Mother of God…"

"Wait. They built 'the resistance' before the war?

"They tried. They assembled people. Put aside supplies. But Skynet still hurt us, badly."

"…pray for us…"

"The extended bombings," John added.

"Yes. The ones who moved first, the most motivated, the most driven, were caught in the open. But even before that there were losses. Some dire, they killed Matt with a car bomb."

"Who," asked John.

"Matt Murch he was one of Ziera Corps lead programmers. He was a good man."

"…now and at…"

"The grays," John said.

"…the hour of our death…"

"Yes. They were there but Skynet hurt them too. When the bombs fell."

John could only nod. He went back to his first question. "What happened to Martin?"

"Amen."

"A mistake, I think. You're mother couldn't trust him after Abilene. So she sent him where she thought he could do the least harm."

"Los Angeles."

"…Mary full of grace…"

"Yes. He was very… fervent. Here in the 'east' we had things well in hand, mostly. In the 'west' things were going from bad to worse, and adding Martin was like pouring gasoline on a fire. You're mother had people in place. They tried to support Martin, but his arguments took on an increasingly religious bent. This polarized, and alienated people, who might otherwise have joined our cause. In some ways it helped. In little more than 3 years of fighting nearly half of the 'warlords' were gone. Unfortunately we lost nearly has many allies as we killed enemies."

"Jesus."

"Wait. We fought? The 'resistance' fought against humans? Martin said we pitted them against each other."

"Holy Mary…"

"It's the same thing isn't it?" The priest looked at John surprised, that he could make such a distinction. "The weapons they used, the ammunition they expended were _your_ weapons and _your_ ammunition. The soldiers they killed were _your_ soldiers."

"…mother of God…"

John nodded seeing the priest's logic. It was something he would have to remember. He wasn't leading just the human resistance. He was leading the humans.

"…pray for us…"

"Who is Tran?"

The priest looked up startled, shook his head, and paused for so long, that John began to think he wouldn't answer. "He's _our_ monster."

"…now and at the hour…"

The priest continued. "He was young, capable and resourceful. There are rumors that he had a military background, or that he was a 'gangbanger'. He is ruthless and brilliant. _He_ did _that_ to Martin. Your mother wanted him for _our_ side."

John wondered was _that_ how fate or destiny or whatever worked. Was General Tran supposed to be _this_ times 'John Connor'? Was _he_ supposed to save humanity? Had they tampered like Skynet? And like Skynet had they crafted the weapon of their own destruction?

"Martin almost succeeded in recruiting him, but they had a falling out. After years of in fighting, he finally caught up with Martin and threw him in a cell for 6 months, and let him go."

"…of our death."

"It wasn't so straight forward," the priest continued. "Every few days they would send someone in to beat Martin up. When they found that he couldn't feel it anymore, they released him."

"Amen."

He looked up at John. "It was the whole 'Savior of Mankind' thing. He thought it was an unnecessary pretense. He thought it was all superstition."

"Hail Mary…"

John just looked at him. More thoughts more questions.

"…full of…"

The priest folded his hands in his lap, and looked down at his shoes. John thought he was going to pray. "And now," he said still looking at his shoes. "You're here." He looked at John. "And _he_ is scared."

"But it was Davis that tried to kill me."

"…grace…"

"Davis would never have done anything without support. Davis was stable, and consistent, but he didn't like to take risks. Tran was using him to get to you he was a… cat's foot?"

"Cat's paw," John corrected.

"Thank you. Do you remember the troop dispositions of the 'west'?"

"…blessed are you…"

"Yes. Tran was far to the front, almost exposed."

"Yes."

"…among women…"

"Too keep him weak."

"Yes."

"…blessed is the…"

"You were worried that he might swallow up Bell, and Davis. Why were Wills and Perry so far apart? They couldn't possibly support each other?"

"…fruit of…"

"We wanted someone we could trust near Serrano Point. We knew it was important and Perry was there to watch our flank."

"…Jesus."

"I'm surprised they haven't made you a bishop yet."

"Amen."

The priest shook his head. "There are bishops in South and Central America, but they have heard nothing from the Holy See since Judgment Day. I fear the worst. There has been debate, concerning the establishment of a new Vatican City in Brazil, but I am not part of those discussions." He turned, "Allison, are you finished?"

"Yes, Father."

"Then you may go. I'm certain that Sister Sabrina will enjoy seeing you again."

"Thank you, Father." She turned to go, and then turned back. "Father, has there been any word?"

"Word," he asked.

"About," her eyes darted from the priest to John. "About my uncle?"

"Oh." Father Bonilla stood, and seemed to take on a more formal air. He tugged at his black jacket to straighten it. "No, Allison. There has been no news."

She nodded, and turned away as if expecting that answer. It was only at the door did she say, "thank you, Father."

When Father Bonilla turned back, John could see the sadness in his eyes. He looked at John and it was gone. He gestured to the 'table of organization'. "This is your army."

There were two full divisions a third was still being recruited, mostly from South and Central America, but some from the near western states, and the extreme western edge of the American Midwest. Nothing seemed to exist in a triangle stretching from the Great Lakes, to New England, down to the mid Atlantic. It had only been during the last three years that there had been contact with the south east much beyond the Mississippi. The southern hemisphere, at least in the Americas was largely intact. "If," the priest looked at John. "If we can integrate the 'western sector' division, you would have almost four full divisions."

Nearly fifty thousand troops, John guessed. "Do we know where Skynet is located?"

The question seemed to take the wind out of the priest's sails. He sat heavily on the edge of his desk. His shoulders slumped. We waved at the map almost behind him.

John looked up at it, as the priest shook his head and said: "No."

John stared at the map. Skynet would need computers. Shielded, defendable, he thought the air force, and navy were supposed to have super computers. Where would they be? Where would they be safe? The most secure place John could think of for a computer was Cheyenne Mountain. If that were the case, John wondered, why were they fighting here? Why expend resources here? According to Cameron Coltan is rare. Why waste it fighting over these ruins? What possible need could Skynet have for the Los Angeles coastline?

He looked at the priest. "Why did you think the 'internet' had been compromised?"

Father Bonilla looked at John, and just stared, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "It was John Henry." He was so taken aback that he responded in Spanish.

"The cyborg," asked John.

He seemed to catch himself, and continued on in English. "Yes, the other machine. John Henry said so. Something about," he paused trying to remember a conversation that took place long ago. "Worms, I think, he said, were controlling computers, all over the world."

"A zombie net," John said to himself.

"Yes! That's what he called it!" The priest seemed pleased.

"You said that the southern hemisphere was 'intact'. Do they still have computers there?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Do they still use them?"

"As far as I know."

There was knock on the door. The priest seemed surprised. He went to the door and opened it. John had turned to follow his progress. His mind still churning, he looked at the woman at the door, and said: "It's… It's you."

The priest turned to John, "John, I believe you know Sister Sabrina."

"We've met," the woman said her voice was still low and cool. She was still pretty. Her hair was shorter, and she was wearing BDUs, the only concession to her calling was the rosary she wore around her neck.

Father Bonilla explained, "She teaches two bible study classes, takes care of the music for mass, and she is also the head of my security detail."

John could only nod.

Sabrina smiled at him and relayed her message to the priest, "a runner has come in from the 'west'."

"And," the priest said.

"'Tran is moving.' "

"John, if you would excuse me. Sister can you escort John back to his 'quarters'? Oh! John before you go, one of the people in your group is… suspect. Sister Sabrina will explain."

"Certainly, Father. John," Sabrina said, and gestured out into the hall. As John stepped passed she said softly: "She doesn't know."

John looked at her, the door closed behind her. Sabrina walked passed him briskly she whispered again, "Allison doesn't _know_."

John could only stare. Allison doesn't know…what?

They stopped at a door just 10 feet away. John could hear a guitar. Someone was trying to play 'La Bamba', they weren't very good. The Sister turned and looked at him before opening the door, and John saw her face, inert, passive, like a mask. Like Cameron. She opened the door there was Allison with her tongue stuck out of one side of her mouth trying to line her fingers up. She looked up and smiled. "Sister Sabrina? That's John." The sister smiled at John. The mask was gone.

They were walking back to the 'guest quarters'. People were nervous. John could tell. It wasn't panic, but it wasn't far from it either. Sabrina though shorter set a good pace as they walked. John leaned in. "Father Bonilla said you would explain?"

"Yes." She said, simply.

"One of your companions," she continued after a few seconds. "May be working for the enemy."

John was amazed. No one else even noticed that Jorge was missing. He began to wonder at the quality of their surveillance equipment.

After another long pause, "Allison has been keeping close to the subject. Allison?"

"Thank you, Sister. John, Tyler transferred to us from the 125th five months ago. Davis' recruited heavily from the 'hills'. I have, with the cooperation of our Company officers, been surveilling her for much of that time."

"Tyler?"

"Yes."

"I thought… I don't… I thought you were friends?"

"I am that's why I want to…"

"Turn her."

The sister and the girl exchanged looks, and then simultaneously said: "Yes."

"With Davis gone," John thought out loud.

"She's probably looking for a new employer. Why can't it be us," Sabrina asked.

"Okay. So what do you need me for?"

"We don't," replied Allison. "That's why you're here with us."

"What?" John looked between the two.

"We didn't know how she would respond. So we wanted you out of the way."

"To keep you safe," supplied the Sister.

"So this is happening right now?"

Allison looked at Sabrina, "should have happened, already."

Sabrina agreed, "a minute or two ago."

"Why didn't it happen while we were in with Father Bonilla?"

Sabrina smiled. Allison looked at him, and said, "because I hadn't told them yet?"

"Oh. So… why are we in the cafeteria?"

"Because," Sabrina said as she sat down. "We are waiting."

"Sit down, John." He sat. Allison left.

He looked at Sabrina, and opened his mouth to ask. She cut him off with a shake of her head. Allison came back with a tray with three waters and some 'bread'. It was the same 'bread' that he ate when they returned from Lancaster.

They were there for less than five minutes. "Sister! Novice!"

Even without the yelling child the 'cafeteria' here at Lockwood was loud. He wasn't sure if that meant anything.

Sabrina turned. "Yes, David." She said in Spanish. She pronounced his name 'dah-vid' with accent on the 'i'. It was Esteban's older brother. He didn't as much as glance at John.

"They are taking her to your office." David replied in Spanish. The one, thought John, with the sheet music, with the guitar and the tambourine. It was surreal.

"Excellent. Thank you David." Sabrina said as she stood. She looked at Allison. "Remember, Allison, _you_ must be strong." She looked at John. "Your path is one I do not envy. I have and I always will pray for you."

John looked at Allison. Her eyes were bright. Barely above a whisper she said, "we lose everybody we love." She crossed herself.

"Novice," John asked.

They stood. Allison nodded, "I have a year to decide."

"You want to be a nun?"

Allison laughed. "A Sister," she corrected. Then added, "may be. I'm not going to live in a convent, John. I'm going to fight!"

They were walking back to their quarters. "Wait." Gears meshed, and a thought formed.

She looked at him as they walked.

"The two Sisters, in Lancaster with Martin and the Priest, they weren't just praying for his soul?"

"No, but they were doing that too."

"They were his bodyguards"

"Yes, and don't tell your mother. She would be upset if she knew that we were wasting any resources on Martin."

John only nodded.

By the time they got back to the guest quarters. They were empty. Only Jorge remained. He stood when they entered. "I was told to wait for you. Kyle is meeting with the priest. They will probably be sending him back 'west'."

"What?"

"A runner arrived…" Jorge tried to sound reasonable, it didn't work.

"I know!" John yelled.

"John." Allison touched his shoulder to calm him. He shrugged it off.

"What does that have to do with Kyle?"

"They want him to bring back as much of the 130th as he can get to pull them back here out of Tran's reach." Jorge explained. His voice was neutral.

"When is he supposed to leave?"

"I don't know."

"John," Allison said she touched his shoulder again. "There's only one exit."

-Kyle

John asked Allison to wait for him at the 'armory'. He was worried that the air locks would cycle too slowly and he would miss him, but they were at the end of the tunnel silhouetted by the setting sun.

"John, I have to go." Beyond Kyle, he could see Brandon, and the others. "They have asked me to try and bring back as many 'resistance fighters' as I can. They are loaning me a truck. They want to make me a Lieutenant."

Yes, John thought, they will make every sergeant a lieutenant. Make every private a sergeant. Make every Captain a Colonel. They will build an army around you. They will build _my_ army around you.

"I was worried that I was going to go before I could see you, again. But I wanted to say this first: I want to help you John, but I need to understand. Can you help me understand? These people John, they were expecting you. They've _been_ expecting you. _We_ found you John, how did they know anyone would find you? You owe us that much. Can you explain that?"

John had no reply to this.

Kyle nodded. "I know someone who did understand." Kyle pulled the crumpled note from a pocket. "I know someone who _knew_. You said you 'saw it', but did you read it? Did you read all of it?" From another pocket he fished out the torn envelope. Carefully he folded the note and put it back into the ruined envelope. He handed it to John. "Read it. Read all of it."

John took the envelope, across the torn front it said: "-Kyle Reese, if anything happens to me, READ this." John looked at it, then up at Kyle. Why would Derek address it to 'Kyle Reese'? He opened the envelope. The much crumpled and stained note was folded into precise thirds.

"That's not my brother's hand writing, it's much too neat." Kyle explained.

He unfolded the first flap. "The Priest," in simple block letters, just like he had read it when he saw it the first time. John unfolded the second flap. "Gen. J. Perry, commanding. 130th SOC." He looked up at Kyle. He was certain that his mouth was hanging open.

"See John, he knew. Somehow, he knew, and he understood. He knew what needed to be done. I'd ask you if you could explain that to me, but it's obvious from the look on your face, that you are as confused by_ that_ as I am." Kyle paused.

He's deciding, John thought, and he's decided to ask. John felt the dread settle on him like a weight tied around his heart.

"I know you, John. I don't understand how, but I know you. I've been trying to figure out how that could even be possible, but we've met, John. Somehow I've met you before. Do you understand, John? _Before_. We were on our way back from Lancaster, I think, when I figured that out."

"I wish…" Kyle said almost wistfully. "I wish Derek were here, he's gotta better head for things like this, he could be so… sentimental." He laughed softly to himself. "We've met, John. And all I know is that when we met I was a kid. And… And… you haven't changed, you haven't changed at all. Can you answer that? Can you tell me what that means? Can you tell me how that can _be_?"

"No." John shook his head. "I don't think I can answer that. I don't think I can explain it, not in any way you could understand, or would even believe. No, please let me finish." He said when he saw his dad, protest.

"But this much _you_ have to understand… This much I _need_ for you to understand…" Call it premonition, call it destiny, call it fate, but John knew at that very moment, that he would never see his father again. "You're," John choked, the lump in his throat cut across a sentence he'd been rehearsing for nearly 3 weeks, now. "You're… you're my hero. You've always been my… my hero." John's vision blurred and he turned to walk away. He couldn't see but he knew the way out was toward the light, but he wasn't trying to escape. He stepped towards the dark.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. "John." The voice was soft, and kind. It was undemanding, and yet it demanded all. Something John could not give.

He couldn't turn. He couldn't look. He couldn't. Because he knew that if he did, he would fail, and it would all be for nothing. This would all be for nothing. He couldn't be a 'private' anymore. He couldn't be a 'soldier' anymore. He had to lead. Somehow, some way he had to lead.

"You called me 'dad' again."

"I know," he said. "I know." He took a step, the weight on his shoulder felt like the weight of the world. He took another, and the weight fell away, but it never ever left.

One step in front of the other, he thought to himself, remember the mission. He felt his father's stare on his back, as he blindly made his way to the dogs. "Hi Daisy," he said, his voice thick. The unseen tail thumped. The bell rang. The strobes flashed, and the 'air lock' doors shut behind him, cutting off the light.


	8. Chapter 8

Livin' in the Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 8

-Allison

John wiped his eyes on this sleeve. He stepped into the hall. Allison was at the armory door. She looked worried. "John?" He noticed two things. One she was armed. Two she wasn't alone.

"What's going on?" He was looking at Sister Sabrina.

She just looked right back at him. Allison said: "They are worried about your safety. They are sending us to the 'Academy'." Sabrina just nodded and handed him his side arm.

Automatically he checked it, and then put it on. He was running again. It rankled. At Allison feet was his pack. He bent to pick it up, draped across it was his father's coat. He hesitated, felt foolish and snatched it up, and drew on his pack. He looked at Allison, she still looked worried. "When are we going?"

"Are y…?"

"I'm fine!" He snapped, he hadn't meant to. He was hurt, and he wanted someone else to hurt too. He was being a child. Dammit. He slung his AR onto his shoulder. He refused to make eye contact. "When are we going?"

"When Roberto gets here," Sister Sabrina said her voice low, cool and impassive as ever.

John turned to the doors. "I… I'm sorry." He said to them.

"It's okay John."

He shook his head. "No. No its not. Where's Jorge?"

"I don't know."

John nodded. A moment or two later Roberto ran up. He slapped the armory counter top. The girl, smiling, tossed him his AK. "We ready?" She slid a large dark box towards him. He pulled its strap over one shoulder. His eye caught on John's coat. He looked at Allison, she was wearing her BDUs. "You want a coat or anything thicker? It gets pretty cold in the desert."

"I'll be fine. I've been to the desert before."

"Is it just the two of you?"

They looked at each other. "Yes." They said in unison.

"Okay. That was kinda creepy." Roberto's smile wavered. He looked at John, "I can only take you part of the way there. When we are on alert all the vehicles have to stay within reach. Once I hit 'bingo fuel' I have to turn around. Normally I'd just gas up _there_ and come back."

John nodded. He thought it strange that a man driving a truck would use that term, but when a truck was as valuable as an aircraft, it kind of made sense.

Sister Sabrina gestured to a mirrored window, to the right of the armory. The bell rang, and the doors opened out. Allison gave her a quick hug. John just walked back out into the air lock.

Roberto climbed into the truck the number on the fob matched the number of the trucks parking space and painted on the truck's cab. John climbed into the bed. He refused to acknowledge the empty space to their trucks immediate right. Allison was poised to step into the open cab door. She looked at John closed the door and climbed in back beside him.

He looked towards her. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I know."

"I'm not going to be very good company."

"That's okay."

They drove east. After about an hour they left the city proper. John now felt that he had a better understanding of the limitations of wheeled vehicles. The truck was 4 wheel drive though this part of the city was lacking in twisted wreckage and impact craters many of the main thorough fares were clogged with Judgment Day traffic. So they were confined to side streets, and on some of those they had to drive on sidewalks, cut across parking lots, slip down alley's, and even through more than a couple of buildings. John was pretty certain that had they run in this direction they could have taken a direct path. Near as John could guess they were averaging about 20 mph.

They were trying to parallel a freeway. Even sulking as he was John noticed that. Other landmarks suggested, Riverside. Which reminded him of Riley and the mistakes he made there, self pity, he thought to himself. Which only pissed him off even more, it felt like a life time ago. It had only been 3 weeks.

They were in the suburbs, when it became full dark. Roberto stopped and opened the box. Looking in from the bed, John saw that they were night vision goggles. Here there had been much less traffic. The worry now seemed to be tree falls and wash outs. John leaned against the weapons mount and huddled down in to his father's coat. His pack was between his legs. His rifle, still on its sling, was across his lap. Without glass the cab offered little shelter from the wind. They were doing 35 may be 40 mph. Allison he noted kept watch behind them, her eyes periodically sweeping the skies.

From the opposite side, she too leaned into the post. He thought she was trying to stay out of the wind. He was going to offer her the coat, as a peace gesture. Before he could ask she said, over the wind noise: "You haven't been sleeping well."

He looked at her.

"I say my prayers every night," she said as if that somehow explained everything.

He continued to stare at her.

"You snore."

"Loud?"

"No, not too bad, Derek was a lot worse." She saw his look, "I was the runner for his squad."

"Oh."

"I saw a coyote back there when we stopped."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Usually good, when there are coyotes around their usually aren't dogs."

"Was this how you got to the 'end of the world," John asked.

She laughed. "Sort of, we had a bigger truck. We took a more direct route."

"What's… What's going on back there?"

She looked away, back down the road. "Panic," she said plainly.

He nodded. "Why," he asked.

"Tran is good. But they are worried that he might have Bell with him."

John thought about that. Bell _could_ be with him. Tran had to know how important Serrano Point was. So he _had_ to know that Wills was 'pinned' there. John laughed to himself. Pinned, is a chess term, for a piece that could not be move because it was shielding a more important piece.

"Do you think Kyle might try and stop him? Or delay him?"

"I hope not." She said to retreating road. "He'd be overmatched. Besides he's too smart for that. He'll leave traps, may be some people to harass their rear areas after they pass, but he won't stay and fight. He'll run."

Just like me, John's thought was bitter as bile on the back of his throat.

"What are Father Bonilla's plans?"

She looked at him at first feigning to be someone not privy to such knowledge, then conceding that she was, "He's going to move two brigades up off 'the line', and into the 'buffer zone'. That should be sufficient to give Tran pause."

He's too static, John realized. Tran could just go around him into the suburbs come around from the east. Then he understood something else. That is what Kyle, and what of the 130th he could save and what of the 125th Radice could save, were for. To harry Tran's flank.

"He's worried," John said into the wind buffeted silence. "He thinks we are going to cut him off."

"What do you mean?"

"Tran is worried about his supplies. That's why he wanted the 130th's supply depot. He's worried, now that I'm here, that we will starve them out to get them to join us."

Allison looked at him, puzzled at first, but then nodded. "Is that what we should do?"

"Yes, especially now that Skynet is too busy with his own problems."

"How did…"

"Father Bonilla told me, and it's the only reason Tran can do this. Skynet is distracted, and he is taking pressure off of the 'west' to engage his new enemy. Tran is using that 'freedom' to consolidate his hold on the 'west', but to do that he needs to secure his supply base. Us."

After a moment, almost to the night chilled air, John said, "Leaflets, or fliers. Reminding them that the fight is against Skynet not _me_."

They rode on in silence for awhile. The truck continued on its way; occasionally slowing for some obstacle, or bouncing its way around a pot hole big enough to hide it in. Roberto said not a word. Near as John could he was concentrating on the road, what there remained of it.

After another hour, they were out of the suburbs, and into the wild. They were as much off the road as on it. Mostly they seem to use the road as a marker, to show them the way to go. Nearly fifteen years of neglect, and periodic rain storms, had left the roads washed out and overgrown.

A thought kept bothering John. So he voiced it. "Why is Skynet fighting _here_? What is so important about southern California that he feels necessary to fight _here_?"

Allison still watching the road, there was a movement of her shoulders. John guessed it was a shrug.

He didn't get it. It didn't make sense. From John's experience machines did things for a reason. Another thought, the zombie net. What had he been using it for? Was it just for processor time? Was it 'living' on the distributed system? Was it trying to solve a problem? What about the computers in South America? Where they networked? Was Skynet using them as well?

The bunker, he understood now. They had built it. They had put away supplies. They had staged people. They had organized. Who? Surely not his mother, Ellison had been involved. Obviously the priest and Sabrina, Martin as well, many others that he had not yet met, or who were dead. He was amazed that a conspiracy so large could have been kept a secret.

He sat up so suddenly, he would have hit his head on the cab's back glass, if it had any. He looked at Allison.

She looked back, startled. Her eyes wide, he wondered if they mirror his own. "Are you okay? Did you have a dream, a nightmare? What?"

"Nothing, it's… it's nothing," he said. He was straight backed, against the back of the truck's cab. He was staring at the unseeable dark behind them. _She doesn't know_. _Allison doesn't know_. She doesn't know about Cameron. Oh my God. His heart was racing. What had he told her? He broke out into a sweat.

"John? John!"

What had he said? Had he given anything away? He reviewed their conversations. He was trying to discern what he had said out loud with what he had been thinking. He was panicking.

"I'm fine." He took a couple of deep breaths. It didn't help at all. He had the most incredible urge to vomit. He ran his hand through is hair, it was damp with sweat. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. Dear God. "I'm… just tired." He lay down on his side, and curled his knees up. The wood was rough against his cheek. He needed to shave. He pretended to fall asleep. He didn't think he'd ever be able to sleep again.

The truck lurched to a halt. "John?" Someone shook his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up."

Roberto from beside the truck, "he slept through that?"

"You've been in _it_, Roberto, so you know. You get your sleep when you can."

He laughed, "he's hardcore senorita. I don't think I could have slept through that."

"What's going on?"

"That." Roberto had the night vision goggles up over his head.

John looked out the front of the truck. The road just stopped. His first guess was a massive wash out, but they would just go around a wash out. He climbed out of the back of the truck, twenty feet in front of the truck, the road was gone. He walked to the end and looked down. It was more than five feet below him. "Earthquake?"

"Don't know."

"How often do you guys drive this route?"

"Once a month, may be twice if something important happens."

"So this wasn't here a month ago?"

Roberto laughed. "This wasn't here two _weeks_ ago."

There it was two weeks again, but he thought, this was a natural event. Right? "Was there a quake 2 weeks ago?"

Again, the laugh, "John you lived in L.A. there are tremors all the time."

"I didn't say 'tremor'. I said 'quake'."

Roberto didn't laugh this time. "I don't know. We don't have the equipment or the manpower to keep track of things like that anymore. I wanted to drive you up as far as Yucca Valley but I can see a half a click north, and south, there's no way around. John looked across the gap was only about twelve feet, but they had no equipment to dig a ramp down the near side and up the far side.

From behind them Allison said, "I guess we walk."

John nodded. The face of the drop was pretty steep but not vertical. He slid down. He stood up. There was the sound of sand and gravel. He looked behind him there was a large sealed jug. John picked up the jug. Allison followed it down. Above him he could already hear the truck backing up and leaving. The far face was easier to negotiate it was three broad 2 foot tall steps. Jug in hand, John climbed it. At the top he turned around. The truck was out of sight. "What did I say to piss _him_ off?"

Allison, now up beside him said, "nothing, but you gave him some ideas, I think he was eager to try them out."

He looked at her.

"The pamphlets, the cutting off of supplies, things like that could cripple Tran," she explained.

Allison walked east, off the road surface. After about fifty feet, she turned to her left. Looked up at the stars, and then looked to her left, and her right. Turned back to the right and stared. She did the same thing, looking back the way they had come. She did the same thing looking almost due south.

"What are you doing?"

"Remembering this spot," she said as she took off her pack.

"Why?"

"We are going to lighten our load, and leave unnecessary things here. How much does your pack weigh?"

John pulled it off his shoulders, hefted it. "About forty pounds or so," he guessed.

"Yeah, we aren't going to need most of that. Got your entrenching tool? Start digging," she replied to his nod. "Make it three or four feet deep about a foot or so around."

As John dug, she explained, while rifling through his pack. "They taught us how to 'fix' a location. Find north, and then pick three points. I like: north west; east; and south. Look for 'key' geographic features. They told us to look far away distant objects tend to be large, and so aren't usually affected local environmental changes." She glanced up at John, "like flash floods."

"You've done this before?"

"A couple of times," she said as she tore open four packages of MREs. "Do like the orange, or the apple?"

"Huh?" John asked as he dug.

"The drink," she waved the envelopes at him.

"Oh. The orange."

"Darn." She pulled out a small packet from each the rest she shoved into a plastic bag which she put in another bag. "You've got a full magazine right?"

"Right."

She folded the two magazines she found in John's back and the other six from her pack into individual pockets she folded in another plastic bag. She sealed this bag with a knot and put it into the bag with the MRE's. 'Give me your coat."

"Why?"

"I'm going to store it."

He looked up from this digging. "No. I'm wearing it."

"John. It weighs more than you're AR."

"I'm _wearing_ it."

"Okay, forty miles up the way?" She nodded towards the north east. "Just remember I offered to bury that thing."

John on his belly digging, the entrenching tool is short. Looked up at her, and said "I'll be fine. Is this deep enough?"

She looked at him. 'Yeah, that's good."

"What about our side arms?"

"They'll be more useful than the ARs unfortunately we don't have bags big for them." She handed him the bundle.

It was very neat, and tightly bound bundle. "My socks," he asked as he dropped their cache down the hole, and back filled it.

"I'm sure there will be extras at the 'academy.'"

"Do you always pack like this?"

She laughed. "I knew we were going to the desert. So I planned ahead."

John picked up his pack, it seemed hardly lighter, he looked inside all that was left were packets of instant drinks, some 'snacks', energy bars, dried venison, and three one gallon jugs of water, and three one liter bottles. "Where did you get dried venison from?"

"Supply. It's good mostly protein, and salt. We're going to need electrolytes."

"The crackers?"

"Carbohydrates."

"Peanut m&m's?"

She looked up and smiled. "I just _love_ those things!"

"The t-shirt?"

"A scarf it gets cold enough."

She cinched up his AR's sling. "Silence isn't really an issue, but that thing bouncing around can be annoying. Everything was secured nothing to swing out and snag on a branch or thorn. She pulled down on his back. "That's tight."

"What do we do with that?" John pointed to the jug.

"Fill this." It was a clear plastic bladder. She shoved it into her empty pack, leaving on the top visible. She unscrewed the top, which John saw was also a spigot. The lip of the Jug was bigger than the lip of the bladder. "Be careful, we are going to need all of that."

Allison pulled the pack on.

"Isn't that awful heavy?"

"Are you offering? That's very sweet. I've got most of the water. You have all of the food. We're about even. With that coat you're about ten pounds up on me."

"What do we do with this?" He lifted the empty jug.

"Bury it. We don't want to leave anything visible near our 'cache'." So they crossed and buried the "jug."

They walked away from the cache. "Keep clear of roads especially at night, they retain heat, the snakes gravitate to them. Stay away from rock outcrops, boulders, and shrubs. Actually just follow me like the 'runs' in the city." She paused. John thought to breath. "What's the farthest you've ever run?"

"In one night," John thought about it, "twenty miles give or take."

Allison nodded. "In one go?"

"I don't know. Five or six, I guess."

Again she nodded. "You ready, John?" She smiled. "Let's dance on the dunes," she said. "Just follow my lead."

They walked. The pace was deceptive. This was nothing like the city runs, nor the Lancaster 'run'. She set a steady even pace. John had walked faster to get to a bathroom. There was no 'trail' to follow there was only the desert. The plants were low barely up to their thighs. The shrubs were easy to avoid, they stood out like islands. They kept to the flat ground, which was easy it was all flat. After a mile John was sweating despite the chill. The air here was much cooler than the city even cooler than in Lancaster.

After about 50 minutes and what had to be five miles by John's best estimate, Allison raise her clinched fist, and slowed their pace. "That was about five," she said breathing heavy. "Keep breathing John, we lose a lot of moisture to the air but we need the oxygen." She smiled at him over her shoulder. She gave them five minutes at this pace, and then said: "Let's go."

They were off, and walking. Against the starlit sky John could see the silhouettes of the distant hills. Almost directly ahead of him could see Cassiopeia. Towards his left was Polaris. As they walked John could almost discern Pegasus wheeling high in the sky, after another five miles he was too busy breathing to be concerned about the stars.

"That's about seven, John," Allison gasped. "Drink," she said. "Just a swallow."

John knew better than to stop walking. He opened up his BDU top, between his t-shirt and his top was his water. He lifted up the edge of his 'scarf' and took a sip, it wasn't cold but he let it warm in his mouth before he swallowed it. He took another, and then another. When he could talk he said, "I need to take this coat off."

He saw Allison's look. "Fine, you were right."

"See the plant that looks like a 'w'?" Allison asked.

"The Joshua tree?"

"Yes. Keep walking towards it bearing to its right: we want to be about 10 yards from it when we pass. Keep this pace." Allison slowed and let John pass. Behind him she helped him with his pack.

"Are you sweating?"

"Yes." He acknowledged.

"A lot?"

"I think so."

"Keep the coat on for a bit then. Don't want you getting cold." They passed the tree. "John, about ten degrees to your left see the mound with the 'v' shaped shrub?"

"Yes."

"That's our next way point, stay to its right as well."

They passed that as well. John felt terrible right now Allison was carrying all of their food and water. After about a hundred feet he said: "I'm ready," He took off the coat. Allison helped him put his pack on.

"Give me your coat. There's another tree, the one with the limb hanging down? Go to its left about three yards."

He flipped the coat back across his shoulder to Allison. As they passed the tree John felt a tug on his backpack, then another.

"Good," he heard Allison say to herself. Louder she said. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," John could hear the tremor in his voice from his shivering. It was probably in the mid to upper 30s. He wished they were running. The terrain was getting rougher. They had been in a valley, but it had opened up. Now it was getting hilly. They turned north, and kept to the lowlands between the hills.

"You wanna try for eight?"

John was glad they weren't running. The stars were still bright he could easily discern the band of light that gave the galaxy its name. They had been walking continuously for more than three hours. Their pace slowed for five minutes every hour but they kept moving. John could see Allison ahead of him. They kept walking. The hills were behind them south and west. It was flat here, and open. "Is this," he asked breathing heavily. "How you always travel?"

"Don't talk, John just breathe. This is how we got to the Academy from Baja."

"You walked from Baja?"

"It was our final. There was a support truck about 4 miles behind us. We just didn't know that."

"You said six of you graduated. How many took the test?"

"Fifteen. Now breath John just breath."

John didn't just breath he thought. She had told him that there were forty of them originally. Only fifteen go to the 'final'. Of that only six 'passed'. Part of him wondered what happened to the others. Part of him wondered what it was like leaving 'classmates', comrades really, behind on their 'walk' not knowing there was a truck waiting to pick them up.

John looked at the girl's back. His training had been hard, but he had never had to leave anyone behind. Then he realized how untrue that was. He had left plenty of people behind and for them there _was_ no truck. For many of them the only reason they needed a truck was to take away the body. John was so stunned that people would do this to children that he didn't even recognize that someone had taken his life and turned it into a curriculum.

They walked another hour. They drank during their five minute cool down walk. It was at this point that John decided that sand sucked. When you stepped into it, it gave and your boot would sink in. Sometimes it might have a kind of crust, which for the briefest moment would hold, and then collapse and your boot would sink in. Rarer still it would hold your weight, then you would realize that you weren't on sand at all but rock, and then you would step into sand and your boot would sink in. After that when you tried to step out of it, it sucked. It wasn't the boot stealing and knee popping suck of a swamp, it was much more subtle. But it built up and built up, until front of his thighs burned from it.

They walked for another hour. Allison slowed their pace John thought it was another five minute cool down. It wasn't. After about half an hour they stopped.

"That was good, John. We got about 26 miles in. Keep walking."

He wanted to fall down, but knew better he might not be able to get back up.

"Drink," She said. "I'll set up camp."

John was dizzy he wasn't sure if it was exhaustion, dehydration or because he was walking in circles.

"Come on John lie down. I'll take first watch."

He lay down. His legs were on fire. His back was on fire. Without the coat on he wasn't sweating at all. Well, he was sweating it just didn't last long enough for him to feel wet. He took the Mylar blanket and draped it over himself. He could already feel the cold attacking his muscles because he wasn't moving.

Allison was sitting cross legged beside him. She handed him a bottle of water. "Drink this slowly," she said. "And keep drinking until you have to pee." John noticed she was wearing his father's coat. He knew better than to say anything. She was drinking too. He was taking bigger sips than he would have wanted to but after the first liter his body reminded him how thirsty he was. He was close to a gallon when he had to get up to urinate.

When he got back Allison was reading the packaging of one of the energy bars. "Eat this." She handed him an energy bar and a strip of venison. He ate. Then he lay down again.

It was the sleazy motel room with the nice flat screen. "Get on top of me", she said. He did. She handed him the switchblade handle first. "Right here," she said. He cut. "Reach down under the breast plate." He reached. "There," she said. "What does it feel liked," She asked. He felt.

"A crucifix," he heard himself say as he jerked awake. The sky was bright beyond the netting. He was sore everywhere. The jerk earned him a cramp in his right calf.

Allison glanced at him. "Did you have one of those dreams where you think you've fallen asleep on watch?"

"Yeah," he lied. As he sat up, his hand landed on a one liter bottle, the water inside it was orange. The blanket crinkled with his movements.

"Hate those," she said to the desert.

He lifted up the bottle it dimpled and made that crackling sound.

"Drink that John. Drink it slow, but drink it all. When you're done you've got three more."

"What time is it?"

"Time to switch watches," She turned to look at him again. John saw how bloodshot her eyes were. They traded spots. John looked out at the desert, while sipping his orange colored water.

From the Mylar blanket Allison said, "nothing out there. Without electricity the pumps don't run. We abandoned this part of the country pretty quickly after J-day."

John sat his watch. He watched his compass points, but paid particular attention to their back trail. Like Allison said there was nothing. Not a bird, not a lizard.

Beside him Allison's breathing slowed. He rubbed absently at his calf. His mind wandered. His father had told him it was harder with just two people. Because, he had said, that you were alone and you thought about why that was. They might be fighting already. They might be killing and dying for him right now and _he_ was running to his mother's over protective wings.

Was Allison right? _You did this_, she had yelled at him. Had he done this? Was all this happening because of _him_? Obviously his arrival in this time had precipitated this attack, but he had to think that something like that had been in the planning for some time. He had only touched it off. Like a spark in a powder keg, that prematurely detonates a 'mine' in one of those 18th century sieges. Before the defenders are clear of the wall and before attackers are in the 'breech'. But that wasn't entirely true either, _he_ left. He had gone to the future, after Cameron, leaving the human resistance bereft of leadership.

The thought sobered him. He _had_ done this. What could he do now to fix things, to make everything right? He laughed at the naiveté of that thought. At sixteen, he already knew that everything could never be _right_. It was life. Nothing was fair. Nothing was right. But some things could be more right, or at least less wrong. What he needed was information, and here in the desert he had nothing.

Under his breath he said: "You still out there?"

The response took longer than he expected, he had begun to think that he was out of range again. "I will keep this response short. Yes, I am here." Weaver's accent was thick in his head. "You have enemies John, they might be able to detect this transmission and localize it. The girl has had numerous chances to kill you since she has not I deem her safe enough."

He looked back the way they had come. To do so he had to look past Allison. He looked down at her. He looked up at the horizon. Somewhere beyond the tangle, somewhere beyond the confusion was Cameron. She was his compass. His lodestone. He had to be certain of that. There was nothing else. There were no other certainties. There were no other sureties. Nothing, only chaos and pain, even the little girl sleeping beside him. He sighed and looked out over another horizon.

Did he have feelings for her? In her own right? Beyond her resemblance to Cameron? Yes, he thought but ultimately like his feelings for his father, they were irrelevant. Not that his feelings didn't matter. It's just that he could not allow his feelings to turn him from his path. From his mission. He looked out at another horizon.

Allison woke on her own after two hours. She had given him four he had planned on returning the favor. "John?" She asked as she sat up. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Just giving you a little extra time," he said at her questioning look.

"You need your rest."

"So do you."

She didn't respond. "Anything?"

"No, nothing at all. Besides I needed time to think."

"About?"

"Everything," he said truthfully. They switched off four more times. The only item of note that John saw on his last watch was a coyote. When Allison woke and they broke camp he told her about it.

"Another one? That's three in two days."

"Three? When did you see a third one?"

"When Roberto dropped us off. You had just slid down the 'drop'. I thought I saw it out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look it was gone. It might have been my eyes playing tricks."

John nodded, but he doubted that. "Are they that common?"

"Oh they're common enough, but usually they're very shy."

With their gear stowed they turned east. "We got about 26 miles in last night which is good. We'll want to do that again tonight or better. What will be the trick are those hills ahead. We will keep to the valleys but it won't be direct. Not as bad as the 'run' but it will feel like it." She was smiling when she said that.

She was true to her word. They got 28 miles in that night. It was little different from the first night other than rougher terrain and a less straightforward route. It was all uphill as they walked in and then downhill as they walked out.

Their camp was 200 feet off of an overgrown road that ran from the North West to the south east. John took first watch. The sky was turning pink. Ahead were mountains behind were mountains. It was maybe six in the morning it was already about 50 degrees, he didn't think it would get much over 80. It didn't.

He was watching west, and thinking about Tran when he saw the coyote. It was sitting in the road just staring at him. He thought about his one sided conversation with Weaver the previous day. He looked at the coyote, and said under his breath: "Come here."

He was only a little surprised when it did. It was staring at him from three feet away just on the other side of the camouflage net a dog that size might weigh 50lbs. "Where's the rest of you," John asked. There was a whine over his right shoulder. He started and turned to look. This coyote panted into his face, its breath was hot the other padded around to it. Backlit by the pink sky with the still darkened horizon behind it, John had he not known better might have thought it was an optical illusion, but where the two coyote's shoulders touched they turned silver and became one. It was taller, broader at the chest. Its breath was still bad. It was a wolf, big and dark, with patches of grey. Its golden eyes stared.

"Jorge didn't survive the blast at Headquarters did he?"

"No," Jorge said. He was sitting cross legged just beyond the net. It was so quick. It was so fast. John had to blink.

"What happened?" John asked regaining his composure.

"He was five hundred and seven feet from the entrance. When he stopped, he turned to look. I don't know why he did that. May be he felt the earth move. A large piece of reinforce concrete took the top half of his head off. It was very bloody, but I doubt he felt any pain."

"You were there?"

"Yes. I took his pack, and his BDU top."

"Why?"

"The note and the food. Wearing clothes takes less processing power than imitating them."

"You knew about the note?"

"I overheard their conversation."

"You were in the bunker?"

"I had resources there."

John nodded, and thought about the 'rat'. Without turning around he said, "Allison, did you hear all that?"

"Yes. How did you…"

"You hadn't said your prayers yet."

"Oh," she replied. John heard the tell tale crinkle behind him as she sat up. "So that's not Jorge?"

"No," he answered. To Jorge he said, "Show her."

The figure silvered and changed. The hair lengthened and turned red. The skin lightened and smoothed. The eyes turned green. "Happy now," asked Catherine in her brogue. There was something chilling about her smile. John could not say that he liked it.

"You're… You're…" Allison stammered. Behind him John could hear her opening her pack and then her struggling with the water bladder. It flopped down behind him resting against his kidneys.

Weaver's smiled widened there was something very predatory about it. She did this curious thing with her right hand. She had her index finger extended but pointing down. The sight of it was almost as disturbing as Cameron's bizarre non sequiturs.

Something made of paper fluttered over John's shoulder. It landed right in front of him. It was a book. It was made of a rough kind of paper. The cover was stiff, and thick. Glued to each page were pictures. It was a photo album. The first page was a picture of his mom. It was her FBI wanted poster. The next picture was his. It was _his_ FBI wanted poster. The third was, oddly enough, James Ellison. This image was tiny it looked like it was cut from an old newspaper. The fourth was in color, and glossy. It was from some sort of photo shoot, it was rippled by the glue. It was Catherine Weaver.

"You're Savannah's mom!"

The absolute lack of fear in her voice stunned John so much that all he could do was turn around and stare at her. She was beaming. Her eyes were shining. John had never seen her so happy.

"How is Savannah?" Weaver asked. Behind him John could hear her flipping through the books pages. John didn't even notice her taking the book.

"She's well. She's as beautiful as you are."

"Thank you!" Weaver replied over John's shoulder. Behind him he could hear rustle of paper page after page.

The whole time… she had a photo album with her? John felt like he was in one of his weirder dreams. He was waiting for the talking animal. Wait, he thought to himself. The wolf spoke didn't it? He was trying to remember. Flip. Flip. Another page, and then another.

"It's been nearly a year since I saw her. She travels back and forth a lot between the Baja Compound and the Academy. The resistance relies on her she does a lot of the administrative work."

The pages paused. "That's interesting," Weaver seemed to say to herself. Louder to Allison: "Does she ever speak of me?"

"She misses you, dearly." Allison's face became downcast again.

There was usually metal in his dreams, John thought… may be… "Wait. Wait!" He said finally. He looked at Allison. She was looking down at the Mylar blanket. "Allison!" She looked up startled. "That," he said as he gestured with a shake of his head. "_That_ is metal."

Her face hardened. He braced himself for another slap. "_That_ is also Savannah's mother!" She was very protective of mother figures. Part of him wondered who had instilled that in her.

Metal. John thought. The rat, resources, she had said. He turned around. Weaver closed the photo album. She was looking at him the direct gaze was intimidating. "You blew up the depot."

"What?" Allison asked.

"Yes I did," she said as she smiled. "I told you I was going to try to affect the outcome of the attack. I didn't know about the bomb in their headquarters until it was too late. So I decided to return the favor. Not even I can be in two places at once John."

"Oh but you can."

She laughed. "Not all of me."

"I thought you could only make blades and simple tools. I thought you couldn't make a bomb?"

She lifted up her hand, index finger still extended. It stretched and flattened. It was as long and as keen as a bayonet. "I can't," she said. "But I can assemble one." Her eyes shifted to something beyond John's shoulder. The blade like finger shrunk back to normal proportions. "I know you had friends there," she said to Allison. "But John's enemies had two companies. A day's march behind them was a brigade and a day behind that one was a second." Her eyes shifted back to John. "My only other local resource was that HK and it had taken damage in the fight against that hill top fort."

"The 'hill people' damaged it?"

"No, of course not, it was the Skynet HK after we had razed the compound on the hill. My HK destroyed it. Against a platoon with no surface to air weaponry even a damaged HK is nearly invincible. Against a full company, it would have been little more than target practice."

Weaver rose, she looked from one to the other. "You're tired. Go to sleep the both of you. I'll keep watch."

John turned and looked at Allison. Allison looked at John. "There's only one blanket," John said finally.

"Its okay, John." Allison lifted up the edge of the blanket for him. John stared up at the sky. Beside him Allison mumbled.

It always amazed John how much eight hours of sleep helped. He was looking up at the bright almost blue sky. Thinking about the strange dream he had. 'Camouflage netting', the phrase wandered around in brain until…

He flung aside the Mylar blanket; it was only partially on him anyway and sat up arrow straight. His out flung right hand was touching something warm. It felt like a hip.

"Good afternoon John." He turned his head slowly to the left. It was Weaver still standing there. Her head was slowing panning across the horizon.

"Oh God," he said. "It wasn't a dream." He noticed that her booted feet had dug a near perfect circle in the sand.

"No, it wasn't." She said as she took a quarter turn to her right and continued her scan.

"Don't use God's name in vain John," Allison mumbled behind him.

John snatched his hand away. He was groping someone who might be a nun next year.

"Sister, John. I might be a 'sister'."

"I said that out loud?" Beside him was the Allison's photo album. He picked it up. He was looking at the blank cover.

"You mumbled." She sat up. John looked at her. She drug her hand through her hair, it was a mess. John decided that it didn't matter. "We should break camp. It's not that hot out, we can get some extra miles in before dark." She leaned across him and took back her photo album.

They started walking. They had gotten another five miles in when Allison stopped. John almost walked into her. "John," she said as he recovered his balance. "Drop your AR."

John looked down at the sand, but knew better than the question someone speaking in that tone. Lives he understood were at stake. One handed he lifted the sling over his head. He carefully lay his rifle down and took two steps to his left. "What is it?" There was an 'x' made of twigs nestled in the crook of a shrub about three feet in front of her.

"It's a 'crosshair'. John, stop moving." He did.

"Someone, correction, several someones are coming. Five. No, six from the south," Weaver said. "I think I can see the sniper. There is a small heat signature on that rise at your 10 o'clock John. He is very well concealed I suspect that I am seeing his night vision scope."

There was a whistle. It wasn't the usual short sharp one it was almost a phrase. Allison turned her head sharply. She whistled a phrase back. At the edge of John's peripheral vision something stood up, and kept on standing.

John didn't want to move. He didn't like snipers. They freaked him the hell out. What he saw of the man was massive, easily as tall as John but with something approaching twice the muscle mass. "Alli," the giant asked in a deep voice.

"Marty!" Allison squealed, turned, jumped and embraced the giant.

John decided that it was probably safe to move. He turned and looked. He was tall six foot eight may be more. He was blonde haired and blue eyed the proto typical Midwest grain fed football lineman. John was very conscious that he was the only person John could see. The other five were still out there, more than likely armed. He kept his arms at his side, and made no sudden movements. Then a thought occurred to him. "Marty? Marty Bedell?"

The giant turned to him. The expression on his face changed. The smile faded to a question. "Do I…?"

"It's John," Allison prompted.

He looked down at Allison. He looked at John, and then back to Allison again. "John? As in John? John?"

Allison nodded her reply.

John flinched as the giant charged him and took him into a rib crushing hug. "You're here! You're finally here!" John was certain that the sniper on that hill heard that.

"They told us to expect two, Allison. Who is this?"

"Don't you recognize her? That's Catherine Weaver Savannah's mom."

Marty's eyes widened, and John saw the fear and horror that rightly belonged there. He stepped back. "Ma'am."

John almost laughed.

"What are you doing here? Why are you patrolling out so far?"

Marty turned to Allison. John could see by the look on his face that he was relieved that he no longer had to directly confront Weaver. "Roberto told us to expect company. So… um…" Marty glanced at John. "Sarah," he said with some discomfort. "Doubled the patrols, and extended our range."

"Doubled," asked Allison.

"Yeah, Alejandro here." He gestured to a shrub. "Is fresh from Baja see Allison, he's already learned not to give himself away."

"It was the push-ups Marty. A couple of hundred of those and even _I_ learned."

Marty laughed. "Alejandro go on and get Monty and meet us at the truck."

-Sarah

The drive was uneventful. They insisted that John ride in the cab. Allison and Weaver sat in the back of the truck talking. The rest of the patrol huddled together as far from the pair as the truck bed allowed. Near as John could tell Weaver seemed amused by their reaction. Unlike walking the kept to the road, though neglected had left it rough and pock marketed. It was near dawn when they arrived.

The Academy was a 'camp'. It was a tent 'campus' that hadn't moved in years. If John had to guess he'd say nearly fifteen years. As soon as the truck stopped Marty told Alejandro to "find her." He ran off. They were split up. Half the patrol escorted Catherine politely to an isolated tent. John wondered if it had been erected where Martin's tent had been.

Marty, Allison and John went to another tent. Marty opened the 'flap'. John entered first. It was dark inside the walls were canvas, so there were exits everywhere. There was a card table in the middle of the 'room'. A 'single' cot neatly made in one corner and opposite it was a roll top desk, an unexpected piece of furniture in a tent. John went to the table there were notebooks, documents, maps, and a lamp. He was tempted to turn it on. The other two seemed uncomfortable. The tent flap flapped, the tent lightened briefly. John turned. It was her. Her face had more lines. Her skin was darker than he ever remembered. There were one or two wisps of silver. John opened his mouth…

"Mom," John turned his head, Allison rushed in and hugged her. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry." She held her, and John felt a stab of jealousy. The hands that used to pat him down for injuries were patting someone else down.

"It's all right," his mother said. "It's all right." She was looking at him now. "You got him here and that's what's important."

Sarah's hands came up to Allison's shoulders. Held her out at arm's length, looked her up and down "you look good. How are you?"

"I'm… fine."

His mother's eyes darted to Allison's who looked away. John wanted to laugh. That _never_ worked, but today it did. "How are his legs?"

"Good. He can do five miles easy."

Sarah nodded. "How is his wind?"

"Excellent. He has had no trouble with the dust."

Sarah nodded again. "Good he can join us tomorrow morning for PT." She turned and looked at John again. "The both of you go have breakfast."

"Yes mom." They said in unison.

"Marty I want your patrol back out here in an hour."

"Aw, mom!"

"Marty."

"I know." They left.

Sarah looked at John from five feet away. She just stared at him. He took a step. She held up her hand, forestalling him. She backed to the tent flap and looked out. "They're almost as sneaky as you are, and they out number me." She turned and looked at him again. She opened her arms and waved him in. He stepped to her. It was awkward. She took two and embraced him. It wasn't the pat down. It was just a hug. "John," was all she said.

"I missed you," he said.

"I missed you too."

"You did this? All of this?"

She stepped away. She laughed. "I had help." She gestured to the folding chair at the card table John turned it around and sat. She reversed the one at the roll top desk. She sat with her elbows on her knees leaning far forward. She looked tired. She was still beautiful. She blew the hair out of her eyes. "How are you?"

"Confused," he answered. "How are you?"

"I am as you see me. Busy." She sat back and waved at the table top. "I have eight students. That's a big class," she explained. "Teaching takes up all of my time." She looked at him critically. "What have you been doing, since you got here? Word travels slow this far from the fighting. You were supposed to meet with Perry."

He told her. She only interrupted him once.

"So you've been to see Martin. How is he?" John could hear the disapproval in her voice.

"Falling apart."

She glared at him. "He made mistakes John, he made mistakes and those mistakes cost lives. Three quarters of what's going on out there _right now_ are because of him. He's a good man but there is little enough that we can do for him now." She looked away.

John had always wondered about that 'glance'. Sometimes the glance would be brief. Sometimes it was longer. Sometimes he was almost certain that she was talking to someone only she could see. It happened most often when her emotions were up and it seemed to him that she was 'turning away.' Literally not wanting to face a situation but if that were the case than it never ever worked.

She looked back at him, "are the nun's still guarding him?"

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew! It's _my_ loop."

John could only nod. "They're sisters."

"You're getting as bad as Allison."

He shrugged that off, and finished his story. "What's the situation, mom? What's really going on?"

She looked at him. "What do you know?"

He told her what he knew. What the priest had told him. When he was done, his mother scoffed.

"Father Bonilla is very optimistic." Her voice was scathing.

"Optimistic? He's panicking."

"He should!"

"He's got two divisions and a third coming."

Sarah glared at him. Uh oh, he knew that look. John sat back. She stood pawed the table for something. It was blank piece of paper. She put it in front of him. "He showed you the map didn't he? Draw it for me. Draw the map John!" She slammed the pencil down so hard the lamp moved.

He drew it. John's memory wasn't exactly photographic was it was very good. It wasn't precisely to scale nor was it exactly oriented right but it was darn close.

Sarah was pacing, by the time he was done. "Where's the metal?" She stopped close and looked down on his map. She didn't complain about any inaccuracies.

He shaded in the coast line. "Metal," he said.

"Good. The western sector?"

He drew a long curving blob from the north west to just south east of downtown.

She nodded. "The eastern sector?"

John relaxed she seemed calmer. He drew the rectangle south and west of the bow shaped blob.

"What's wrong with that?"

He looked down at the map. "Nothing it looks right to me."

"Not the map, John! The troops! What's wrong with the troops?"

John looked, but didn't see.

"He showed you the table of organization? How many soldiers are in the western sector line? How many are in the eastern sector line?"

Then he saw it, and his heart clinched. Out loud he asked himself: "Why does it take two divisions to hold down one fifth the geographic area as one division?"

"You tell me." She was looking at him, her arms folded across her chest. Very negative body English, John thought. A bad sign.

"They are closer to the coast. Do they see more metal?"

She shook her head. "That's not it John, they're a paper tiger." She stabbed the map with her finger. "Look at Tran way out in front exposed." His brigade was out at the leading edge of the western sectors 'c'. "And like the 130th he sends companies out in patrols to harass Skynet. What do they do in the 'east' John?"

"I don't know."

"Did he show you the 'front'?"

"No."

Sarah ducked her head and her shoulders slumped. "He wants to believe we can still win John. So I can't really blame him." She sat down. She seemed tired again. She reached out to the map touched the leading edge of the rectangle. "They've built a line of mutually supporting forts and bunkers. Skynet has tried it but has been repulsed many times with seemingly heavy losses."

"What about the aerial HKs?"

"We have RPGs."

"They are unguided."

"True, but the HKs are slow, John. Like the Centaurs they are more effective as terror weapons, than weapons of war."

John nodded, and looked at the map. "What's between," he tried to remember the farthest south bunker he had been to. "Foxtrot 9 and Lakewood?"

"Nothing," his mother replied. John remembered the 'no man's land' they had run through. Father Bonilla had called it a 'buffer zone'.

"It's the Maginot Line," he said to himself. He also wondered at the large gap between the 'forts' and the Lakewood bunker.

"What?"

"After the first world war the French built a line of forts along their German border. They wanted to build it to the ocean but Belgium was their ally. So they stopped there. They even tried to help Belgium build forts on their German border but the second war started before it was finished."

"So, what happened?"

"The Germans just went around it."

"That's what Perry was for…"

"'To protect his open flank,'" John quoted.

"What?"

"Never mind." What a mess, he thought, and now Perry was gone, and Tran was coming. Tran might already be there. This conversation might be entirely moot.

"What else did he tell you?"

"That's about it. He said that no one had heard anything from Rome, and that South and Central America were largely intact."

"Fairly intact," his mother corrected her tone angry again. "Jesus. Priests!" She stood up and walked to roll top desk. She unlocked it, and opened the top. It was filled with school supplies. Text books, a microscope, a small telescope, even a tiny globe. This she picked up and tossed to John.

She was pacing again. "Europe," she started. He turned the globe. "Is as bad off as we are. Infrastructure is gone. Industry is gone. Agriculture is mostly subsistence. We haven't heard from Russia in six years, the winters are getting very harsh." The globe squeaked as he turned it.

"Like South and Central America, Australia is not bad," Sarah continued. "But, this is important John, there's not a lot in the way of manufacturing going on. Every pistol dropped on the battlefield very AR or AK lost in a firefight is likely lost forever. The generators are wearing out. The hard drives are failing. We can barely make light bulbs. Down in Baja they are experimenting with black powder reloads for the ARs and the AKs." She saw John's reaction to his. "They kick like mules John and foul quickly."

"Gunsmoke," he said to himself. "The fog of war."

"That, John is the good news. China," Squeak, squeak. "Is a black hole. The Australians have landed commandos, even entire companies on the coast of China. Nothing, they have lost some of their best people there. They have tried ballistic rockets with cameras. Nothing that goes in has ever come out. You know what China has always had a lot of, John."

"People."

"Right and you remember what Kyle said Skynet was using people for."

"Slave labor."

"China _should_ be as bad off as the rest of us."

"We can't assume that," John added.

"No, we can't. Sub-Saharan Africa is another black hole. Nothing John nothing at all comes out of there. The Egyptians, the Israelis have sent people in but…" her voice trailed off. "John, you know where coltan comes from?"

"The Congo."

She nodded.

"You know what else comes from that part of Africa mom?"

She shook her head.

"Uranium," John said. "He's re-arming mom. Why is he taking so long? I don't know. May be China is bad off, but China had nukes. They had the ability to make them, and to deliver them. May be he is busy reverse engineering 'our' technology, or maybe he is teaching his slaves how to build 'our' weapons."

Another thought struck him. "Are they reports of Skynet in Europe?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like here in L.A. this Skynet 'enclave'. Anything like this out of Europe?"

"Not Europe. There were reports of Endos in Russia."

"Which you haven't heard back from in six years. It's a beachhead, mom."

"What?"

"Los Angeles, mom, it's a beachhead. When he's ready he'll invade. He doesn't even need nukes. He can just walk right in. All that's left is South America and Australia right?"

"Mostly but he doesn't even have to do that. The winters are getting longer, and harsher. The growing seasons are getting shorter. We were forced to abandon Quebec ten years ago. We will probably be out of Oregon in another five. There's not a lot of arable land in South and Central America John. If Dr Shelby is right, and you are right in fifty years the metal can walk here from Asia."

He looked at her amazed. "Australia? South America? Egypt? Russia? Quebec? How did _you_ do all this?"

She sat again. "I had plenty of help. Ellison, the Priest…" She paused and looked away again. Still looking to one of the room's empty corners she spoke: "John, I was warned to be very careful with this information."

He looked at her, she seemed uncertain. This troubled John on a very basic level.

Sarah looked at him directly. She took a deep breath. "You sent her back, John, again."

"What… What are you talking about?"

"Cameron. John, I'm talking about Cameron. Ellison and I were picking up Savannah. There was a van there. Neither of us was armed. The lights were out. We found the instructor and three men in grey, all dead. Then we heard laughter from the back. The backdoor was open. Outside were the girls. On the swing set, the merry go round, the jungle gym." She looked down and smiled, then up at him. She was there pushing Savannah on the swings."

John just stared. He was numb.

"You found her John. You saved her and sent her back." There was a long pause. "John, she's… she's… different."

"What do you mean?"

"That's all I can say, John. She made me… She made me promise." She looked embarrassed. "But John you have to do this. You have to find her. You have to send her back again. As bad as things are right now they could be so much worse. You need to find her John." He remember Martin's scream echoing across the leper camp. "Find her." Now he knew. He could only nod.

She looked up at him. She looked desolate. She looked like she wanted to cry. "Go, while they are still serving breakfast. Get something to eat. If you see Allison send her back here. I need to talk to her too."

John stood and walked to the flap. He touched it and turned to his mother. "She doesn't know?"

She almost ran to him. She grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him away from the door. She pulled the flap aside and looked both ways. She let it fall. She was angry again. "No she doesn't. What have you told her?"

John stammered. "Just… just that Cameron was my sister and that… that she reminded me of her."

"Good. We did what we could for her… She's a good kid, John."

"How did you even find her?"

Sarah laughed it was a bitter laugh. "Cameron, of course! She and Ellison just a week before Judgment Day leave Baja without telling anyone and come back two days later with a little girl."

"Where is she?" John asked.

"Allison?"

"Cameron."

"Eight years ago, she and Ellison went south; they haven't been seen or heard from since."

Another long silence. "Go eat John. Go eat."

The cafeteria was easy enough to find. It was big. It had wood framed screen doors. He pushed it open and it slammed shut behind him. There were only three occupied tables. Everyone turned and looked at him. To his immediate left was a folding table with eight children sitting at it. They were about 10 years old. They were huddled around a chess board, but they weren't playing chess. They were staring at him. A girl with long blonde hair looked at him, then at her friends, none of whom moved, then back at him again. She stood up, walked to him and lightly touched his arm. She was smiling broadly. She turned to her friends and said, "I win!" She sat back down. The other children just stared at him in awe. John looked at the chess board. There were eight game pieces, all were different, and all were metal. There was a 20 sided die. Someone called his name.

He turned there was another long folding table this one had the sign 'instructors' written on it. One of them was standing he had his hand out. John walked over and shook it. The name on his BDU was Aldridge. "John." He said quietly. He made the introductions. They were all 'teachers' at the Academy. "This is Cross, he and I were colleagues of Ellison's before the war."

"You're F.B.I?"

"_Were_, John. We _were_ F.B.I. Dr Shelby, used to be a biologist for the USDA. Captain Ramirez USMC once a marine always a marine." Aldridge explained the present tense usage. "Williams was a nurse." He gestured to the only woman at the table. "And Brice is our resident park ranger." John shook hands with all of them. He noticed former special agent Cross looking past him, and Aldridge's smile waiver.

John turned behind him Aldridge continued his introductions. "This is Ms Weaver. She teaches game theory and strategy." Savannah was walking towards him, briskly. Behind her at the only other occupied table were Marty, and Allison. Allison looked miserable. Marty looked unhappy. Savannah looked like she was about to explain to him how this was all his fault.

She was still the length of one of the tables away. John put his hand out in front of him. "All we ever did was kiss," he said hoping to settle the discussion before it even started. Behind him someone choked on their coffee. To his left a 20 sided die clattered off the table and bounced off a metal folding chair. Thunk! In the kitchen someone dropped a plate. He could hear the tinkle of broken crockery. Savannah with one red eyebrow raised stopped and looked back at Allison. Marty a question blooming on his face like a bruise looked at Allison. Allison had buried her flushed face in her hands. "Oh," was all John could think to say.

Savannah still looking back at Allison almost walked into him. She _was_ very pretty. She turned to him. She was very angry as well. She grabbed his collar and pulled him towards the exit. Over her shoulder she yelled: "Eggs, pancakes, sausage." To John: "Do you like coffee?"

"No." John shook his head.

"O.J.," she yelled as she dragged him outside. She was shorter than him about the same height as her mom. Well, her metal surrogate mom. She pulled his head down to hers. "What did you tell her," she hissed into his ear. It was hardly a whisper. He was certain that everyone in the cafeteria had heard that.

John put his hand at the small of her back and drew her out to the center of the 'aisle' was all John could think of. It wasn't really a road, or a path. He leaned down to her ear. "Nothing, I told her she reminded me of my sister Cameron. That's all."

"You're sure."

"Yes," John replied. She wasn't just looking at him. It was like she was examining him. "She's raised you. All of you didn't she."

"Yes," she looked away. "We're practically siblings." She said to something off to their left.

John just nodded.

"Go on and eat your breakfast." John did, it seemed odd to him that he would so easily follow her lead. He taught _her_ to tie her shoelaces. He opened the door caught it before it slammed. The cafeteria was quiet and calm again. John grabbed his plate. It smelled delicious.

They, Marty and Savannah, waved him over. He sat next to Allison. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

She didn't look it, but he didn't say anything. "M…," '_my'_ he was going to say but he caught himself. "Mom…" it sounded so strange to him. He'd never really had family before. "…Wanted to talk to you."

"I know." She looked at him and almost smiled. She looked back down at her half eaten pancakes. "Marty, before you head back out can you show John his bunk?"


	9. Chapter 9

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 9

-John

It wasn't a bunk. It was a tent. It was an eight foot by eight foot square tent. It had a central pole. On one side was a cot in front of which was a footlocker, unlocked with his name stenciled across the top. Opposite the cot was a small writing desk with a folding chair. There was even a battery operated desk lamp. On his bed was his AR, someone had cleaned it. Part of him hoped it had been Allison. The tent was dark and stuffy the windows flaps were still down. He wanted to open them first but the footlocker caught his eye. He knelt in front of it. It was made of metal and painted grey. He opened it. He knew it wouldn't be empty. There was an ammunition box in it. He picked it up. It was light his first thought was that it was empty, but something inside slide to the back of the box making a hollow metal sound. He released the catch and opened it. Inside were a sealed manila envelope and a tarnished pocket watch. With his free hand he flailed behind himself for the flap to let in some light. The flap opened of its own accord. His eyes fixed on the watch. How was it here?

"John I know you're tired but I was wondering…." He didn't glance up it was Savannah.

"Can… could you please step out of the light?" He brought his hand back to hold on to the box. He didn't want her to see it shaking. He twisted to let more light in but he already knew. It wasn't just any pocket watch. It was _the_ pocket watch. How had she found it? He'd discarded it after he knew that Cameron hadn't killed Riley. Yet here it was. He set down the box and removed the watch. The chain was gone. Finger prints were corroded into the lid. He pressed the release, nothing happened. He used the edge of his nail to pry open the watch. The hinge was stiff there was corrosion along the edge of the lid. The watch, he decided, had not spent all of the past fifteen years here in the desert. There were the three buttons. A small discolored piece of paper fell out of it and back into the ammunition box.

"John?"

"Just a second," he said as he reached down into the box. It was a tiny scrap of paper folded into quarters. It was brittle some of the edges stuck together, some of folds cracked as he opened it. "The tinman" was written on the first half. On the second half it said: "needed a heart." It was written in pencil, the script was mechanically precise. _If_ his mother had recovered the watch she hadn't been the one to write the note.

"John? What is that?"

"Nothing," he said. He put the two halves of the note back into the watch he had to close it twice for the mechanism to catch. He closed the ammunition box turned to Savannah. "What's up?"

"What did you say to her?"

"I already told you," John rose to his feet. She came to his shoulders.

Savannah gave him a look. Telling him with that look that Marty tried this once and it didn't work for him either. "Not Allison, mom."

"What?"

"She's canceled classes for the day. The kids are ecstatic. She told Allison 'it was all right'." She saw the look on his face. "Oh come on, John! She could barely have eff'd up that op any more if she'd shot you herself."

She's right John thought getting him out it should have been a simple extraction. There were six people in her 'class'. After nearly two years of fighting he could not assume that all of them had survived. He walked passed Savannah.

"John?"

"Who was in Allison's class?" He asked as he walked away. Behind him heard Savannah catch up. Dave was one they had confused Weaver with their 'staged' argument. Dalia? Radice? He had always assumed Tyler, but he was wrong there. May be Jorge? Oh, he remembered, Brandon.

"Allison's class," Savannah echoed. "All that are left are Brandon, and Dalia. I don't want to discount Dave, but from what Allison and my mother say it's likely that we can."

"Huh. Not Jorge?"

Savannah pulled even with him she turned her head sharply at the mention of the name. "No," she said the sound of wonder crept into her voice. "We tried recruiting him when he was younger but he said no."

"Not Radice?"

She blinked. "How," she started to ask, but shook her head. "No," she said after a few steps. "He was from the class ahead of her. He was in _my_ class."

John nodded. Year after year, they had been infiltrating the 130th just to find me, John thought. Then when he shows up things go wrong. But Allison had explained that too: "You're the one who walked in a bunker and told the whole damned world: I'm John Connor." Someone had interfered. Someone had… Martin? No, Martin had been surprised to see him. Kyle? He couldn't believe that. No, someone had used Kyle. During that first run they had visited two bunkers. There had been two messages. One from Derek: "Derek's message said: That you might not understand things that you should. That you might say things; you might know things that you shouldn't."

It was at the second bunker. Which one was that? Foxtrot nine? Kyle was late very late: "There's been a change of plans." But who had changed the plans? John now understood that the he was supposed to go to Headquarters to meet with General Perry. If all had gone as planned John would have been here in less time than it had taken for them to go to Lancaster and back. He stopped, and turned to Savannah.

Savannah stopped. "John?"

"You teach strategy. Who did this?"

"Did what?"

"Who sent me to Lancaster? Who sent me to see Martin?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"She hasn't told you?"

"No, the last person she spoke to was Allison."

John felt his face harden. He looked up, there was the cafeteria. "What was that game they were playing?" A panel on the near side of the tent had been rolled up to let in air. They children were clustered around the table again.

Savannah laughed to herself. "It's a game I made up."

"What's it called?"

"Finding _you_," she laughed again softly, almost barely audible. It's called: 'Finding John Connor.'"

He stared at her.

"Seriously."

He stalked off.

"Do you know where you're going?"

"Of course," he called back over his shoulder. He took the next right turn and stopped dead again. Savannah caught up again. He looked at her from the corner of his eye as she drew up. "All the game pieces were metal."

She nodded.

"_They_ are _metal_ trying to find _me_?"

"Don't worry John it's not about killing you. It's a game about time. It's about time and space. To win the game you have to be at the right place at the right time."

He waited.

"If a player finds you on a 'black' square, they were a 'bad' cyborg, and you destroy them."

He just stared at her.

"John Connor kills all bad metal," she explained. It was John's turn to laugh.

She ignored the laugh. "If a player finds you on a white square, they were a 'good' cyborg and they win the game."

"When does the game end?"

"That's the hard part. Half of the players have to roll a '20', consecutively." Savannah saw the look on John's face. "My longest game lasted nearly three months. See," she explained. "The position of the pieces are unimportant, just the color of the square. We could only play in our spare time. There was little enough of that." There was a pregnant pause. "Did you really kiss her?"

John looked away from her to his mother's tent. "_She_ kissed _me_." He walked up to the tent. He brought his hand up to knock but the flap was fabric. There was nothing to knock on. He looked at it for a second uncertain. So he just walked in. His mother was lying on the cot. She was staring at the ceiling, forearm across her brow fist clinched. She didn't notice.

"Mom," he asked from the entrance. She didn't respond. "Mom!"

She sat up and looked at him there was a pistol in her right hand. She set it in her lap. "Don't do that, John." He wondered at the gun, it was a Glock. Was it habit, or was that how it was here? She was looking down at the floor. Like all the tents it had a plank floor. She looked like she was trying to bore a hole through it with her eyes.

"Mom?"

She set the gun down beside her. She stood still looking at the floor. John took one step towards her. The wood creaked. She looked up almost startled, and then she took the rest. She wrapper her arms around him pulled his head down to her shoulder. "John." She wept then. John did too. They'd been apart. But never… never like this.

He held her. She was thin. Painfully thin. "She's lost weigh," Cameron had said. Worry gnawed at his gut, but he had to remind himself that even though for him it had been little more than three weeks. For her it had been nearly fifteen years.

"John," she said again. Her grip was almost bruising. He turned his head and saw the silver in her hair. He could just see the lines running from the edges of her eye. She tensed, he could feel it. She grabbed his shoulders pushed him away from her. He could see the fear then: the fear that lurked there, in her eyes; the fear that she used to buttress up her anger; the fear that she used like a fortress to protect herself and to protect him.

John considered himself pretty smart. He'd met people with more specialized knowledge, but that's always the case. He was always good a noticing things. He was always quick on the uptake. It wasn't conceit it was a simple fact. But still it had taken him years to understand that not everyone lived in fear the way his mother did. The way she seemed to want him to live. There were times that he understood the need, but most times he resented it.

He knew what was next. First came the fear, and then came the anger. He stepped back. She stepped into him. He could see it simmering behind her eyes. Her eyes usually green or a shade of it, darkened always a bad sign. Those darted back and forth searching his face, as if looking for some flaw or something. For some 'thing' he understood. "Is it you John? Is it… is it really you? Not… not one of them?"

"God mom, it's me!"

"Don't use God's name in vain, John."

His mother's hand went to his hair, and tousled it. She smiled at first it was uncertain and fragile, and then it solidified. "Are all of you out there?" Sarah asked still looking John in the eyes, her hand was still in his hair.

"Yes," chorused from the door. John didn't turn but he could imagine a cluster of children gathered around the door behind him. Like him they were _her_ children. They were his armies next generation.

"I want the classroom set up in ten minutes. Allison, and Savannah since the two of you are so bored that you wanna hang out in my doorway you can help them." His mother left him went to the tent flap pulled it open looked outside and let it fall again. He had turned with her. She was looking at the floor again, hands on her hips. She was wearing the bottoms of her BDUs, and a green t-shirt, she looked up at him.

"Cameron?"

"Metal," she said it like a curse word because for her it was. She had seen the worst that 'metal' could do. John wondered if it blinded her to their other attributes. He thought of Savannah and her 'good' cyborgs. Who was wearing blinders? Who was denying a truth no matter painful before their very eyes? John in his life time had known three cyborgs… he wondered did Weaver count as a cyborg? He would have to ask her. He had known three cyborgs they had shown him that 'metal' could save a life as readily as they took them. That they could make sacrifices as readily as they 'sacrificed' others. What did it all mean? He wasn't sure. "She helped, John. She helped so much. She knew things." She walked back to her cot, and sat on the edge. "She told me: that the future had changed; that we needed to prepare for new challenges; that no matter how bleak, no matter how dark, it became we must struggle on; that because of you, John, there was hope." She shook her head. She looked to one of tents corners again. Softly almost to herself, she said: "She told me that, John. And now it looks like in the next fifty years we will either starve or freeze or get nuked again. And now… And now… you're here… and I can't see it. I can't see it John!" She hissed the last. She still wasn't looking at him. She was glaring at the darkened corner of the tent as if something there was pissing her off.

He knelt in front of her his hands folded on her knee. "See what?"

"Hope." She blinked her eyes bright with unshed tears. Tears that John knew were not for her or him but for the people she believes that she has somehow failed: the children who were converting the cafeteria into a classroom; the people of sub Saharan Africa, the people of china presumably slaving under unbearable weight of a coltan heel. She ducked her head, as if not wanting to see what was there. John didn't bother to look. When he was younger he had, but there had never been anything there.

John had no argument he could barely see it himself, but giving up was not something he was used to doing. "How… how had she helped?"

"She convinced Ellison. He went through his contacts at the FBI. _They_ had contacts all over the world. Somehow, he convinced many of them to help." She finally looked at John, her eyes were calm again, a lighter, saner shade of green. "Even Ellison was surprised how easy it had been. It's like some of them knew, John." She shook her head again like she was trying to clear away cobwebs.

She continued. "He even got his ex-wife involved. Her husband, Paul had contacts in Africa. He had convinced them to ride out J-day there. They were the first ones to try the western coast, they went by boat. That was thirteen years ago now John."

She sighed. "That's how we knew. We had people in Australia, India, South America, that's how we knew that the southern hemisphere was largely spared. Some key military facilities but very few major population centers."

John looked down this time. The southern hemisphere, he knew is mostly water. The land masses that are there are largely isolated one from the other. You can't walk from Africa to Australia to South America to Antartica. If you were going to push humanity into a corner this would be a good start.

"John?" He looked up at her. "Have you found _her_ yet?"

"No. Weaver says that John Henry is in Long Beach."

"Long Beach? John… that's… Jesus, John." She looked stricken. "She… Cameron…" She looked away.

"Mom?"

"Ellison and I put Cameron's… body in the trunk of his car." It was like a recitation her voice was empty, devoid of emotion.

She was going to say 'endo'.

"Cameron… John… She… She… destroyed it."

"Wh… Wh… What!" He was at the tents flap before he realized he was even standing.

"John." A hand on his shoulder stopped him and then spun him around. He wouldn't look at her eyes. "John! _She_ said that it had to be destroyed. That it could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. John, look at me!"

He did.

"She told us that she didn't need it anymore."

"What does that mean?" He was confused. He was here to retrieve her chip, but what good was it if there wasn't a body to put it in. He came here to find her, and now he has nothing to put her back into. He thought about what he had seen in this future compared to what he had heard from his father's future. Things were better, things were worse. But how was this an improvement? It wasn't and he had done it. He had done it for a girl, who wasn't a girl. And now the reason he had done all of this seemed out of reach.

"John all I can tell you is that she's… She's different." She saw the look on his face. "I can't John. I can't."

He glared at her. Then a tear ran down his cheek. He turned away and put his face in his hands. "Oh God," he heard himself say.

Her hand was on his shoulder again. Angry he twisted his body to tear away from it. She spun him around and took him in her arms. "I'm sorry John. I'm sorry."

He struggled trying to get his breathing under control. He sent her back again. Was he going to find her only to have to watch her leave again? What the hell was he doing here? He raged to himself. What the hell was going on? Was this some kind of game? They stood like that in each other's arms glaring at opposite sides of the tent. Each blaming intangibles: fate, destiny, duty, even love. Shadowy invisible enemies, that lurked in the corners of the tent in the corners of the mind waiting for the first sign of weakness of human frailty. They were raging at things neither of them could see.

"John?"

"I'm fine," he said, though neither of them believed it.

"Come on. It's time to go to class."

All but four of the tables had been folded and stacked. Two were supporting four folded tables each, and remaining two were sitting end to end the children sat along one side. Allison and Savannah were sitting at the ends of the table perpendicular to the children.

Ten feet from the table was a whiteboard on an easel. The children looked at him and then at each other. They didn't say anything. One, the same girl from earlier in the morning, got up and brought an empty chair to the table. They slid their chairs down, leaving space beside a blushing Allison. The girl placed the empty chair in the gap.

John found their unspoken coordination unnerving. He'd heard of twins doing similar things, finishing each other's sentences, even simple tasks but these children were very obviously unrelated.

His mother's lecture was on starting a fire under a variety of conditions. After twenty minutes John felt as bored as the children seemed. John leaned close to Allison. "We never started a fire."

Without turning her head, without acknowledging he even spoke. Allison said, "We never needed to," implying that they might. John felt their stares. Out of the corner of his eye he could see them staring at him. At the far end of the table he could see Savannah gazing at the blank white board with an almost religious intensity. His mother, he realized had stopped talking.

Sarah coughed. "As you know when we have graduates in attendance. We encourage them to give our students an informal After Action Report." She looked at Allison. Who visibly paled.

Allison blinked. John sitting beside her could see her lower lip tremble. She took a deep breath, leaned forward as she pushed her folding chair back, with a loud scraping sound, and clapped John on the knee. As she did this she whispered: "Thanks," into his left ear.

John blinked. He had been with Allison for almost two weeks. He'd held her hand. He'd been kissed by her. He'd eaten more meals with her than he could remember, and he has a very good memory. But in all that time she had never casually touched him. His eyes flicked down at his knee. In the whole time he'd been with her the only time she ever made an unaccounted for noise was at that first breakfast when she dropped her bowl.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye. Allison was halfway to the board she was taking small almost hesitant steps. She had his mother's full attention. Starting with the child closest to Savannah, who was also watching Allison, they flashed him in American Sign Language: B-U-S-T-E-D. If he had turned his head a fraction of an inch farther he would have missed it. If he hadn't glanced down at his knee he would have missed it. If they had started just a fraction of a second sooner or later he would have missed it.

Camouflage, it was all camouflage, from the scrape of the chair on the floor to the clap on the knee to the slow somber walk to the board. John was amazed.

Allison turned and faced them. She thanked his mother. Her mother, John corrected. Their mother, he corrected again. She smiled awkwardly. John noticed that she was looking up over their heads. She cleared her throat.

"This is the informal After Action Report of Allison Young Alfa Company 2nd Squad 130th SOC. Tech-Com." She smiled for real. John saw the smile reflected in the faces of everyone at the table. Allison continued "On 5 August 2025, the subject, Allison Young." She unconsciously gestured to herself.

John remembered that traditionally after action reports were composed in the third person. "Was shadowing Tina Webb and Hunter," at the far end of the table Savannah gasped. Allison noticed and smiled to herself. "A Corporal from Echo Company 1st squad 130th SOC assigned to Alfa Company as their in-field K-9 unit. At," She paused seemed to think and then continued: "approximately 10pm. While on break, from Door Duty, there came reports of lights and sounds from an unused section of the forward observation bunker they were stationed in. Allison, Tina, and Hunter went to investigate. It was at this point that Dave The acquired and secured John Connor and completing mission 1a." There smiles all around the table. "At this point mission 1b was initiated."

His mother stepped forward. "Excuse me, Allison. If you are unaware, Allison Young had two long term high priority missions. The first was finding and securing John Connor. The second was being accepted into 'Tech-Com' eventually becoming a commissioned officer and one of the future leaders of the human resistance. You may continue, Allison."

Allison continued she went onto explain her decision to send Dalia instead of herself with Kyle, Jorge and John; which was because Torres had recommended her for Security an admirable job but not a command path. She further explained that mission 1b once implemented was to escort John Connor to headquarters and from there to the Academy. It was at this point where someone redirected John to Lancaster. The children exchange glances at approximately ten years of age they already know what is in Lancaster.

Sarah interrupted a second time. "A critical mistake was made. What was the mistake and who made it?" All eyes swiveled to Allison. John could understand that, had she gone with them she _might_ have been able to make sure that they continued on their way to headquarters but John still disagreed and shook his head. He wasn't looking at any one in particular he was reviewing the journey in his head. "John disagrees," his mother said. "This is important, so pay attention. Tell us John who made the mistake, and how?"

John still looking at the faux wood grain pattern of his end of the folding table top said: "Allison's leadership made the mistake." This time the eyes swiveled to him.

"How so," Sarah asked John and to the rest of the class: "Listen to this! Someday you will be the officers, leaders, or commanders. You have to listen to this and you have to understand."

"She should not have had two high priority mission goals that conflicted. One goal or the other should have had precedence."

Sarah nodded. "So who blundered?"

John looked up at his mom. "You did."

Sarah nodded again. "Allison you may sit. Our next After Action Report will be delivered by John Connor."

Mechanically he stood. He walked passed Allison who mouthed something to him. He wasn't sure he understood. He was already composing his introduction. He turned around when he reached the board. "This is the informal After Action Report of John Connor 2nd squad, Alfa Company, 130th SOC." Allison mouthed something again. "Tech-com," he said it sounded like a question. Really, he wondered. Then he recalled his father's conversation with him. "I talked to Derek. You're in." That was it? At the time he had failed to understand the importance of that phrase. He was Tech-com. He smiled. Everyone was staring at him. Out the corner of his eye he could see his mother's incredulous look. "Tech-com," he repeated with more confidence. Then he understood what Allison had mouthed at him the first time. "The ridge."

He turned to the board and drew a 'J' lying on its side. The short side of the 'J' angled off towards the south east. He drew one arrow at the open end of the pointing toward the south east, not quite parallel to the 'J'. He added another arrow far to the west it pointed almost due south. He added the letters: a, b, and c: The 'a' was below the long arm of the 'J'. The 'b' was on the curve of the 'J' and the 'c' was on the long arm of the 'J'.

He stood back and looked and finally understood. The hunter's on the ridge, the ones that had surprised them. They hadn't cleverly surmised their intentions to hunt the hunters. They were trying to get to a high vantage point to see if they could spot them down in the valley. The children, the ones he had killed were 'runners'. The hunter hadn't known they true line of march was almost parallel to the ridge. He had thought they were down in the open valley.

"On 21 August, 2025 a demi-squad consisting of a Sergeant, two runners and John Connor, detached from the 130th SOC were operating independently north of the Western Sector. They became aware of a party of hostiles thought to number in the mid teens were pursuing them. The letter 'a' denotes their camp site. Letter 'b' denotes the Sergeant and his runner on a shallower and curved ridge. Letter 'c' denotes John Connor and his runner on the steeper longer ridge."

He turned to the class and described the action. He saw the wonder in their eyes when he told them about the timely arrival of the HK and how fortunate they had been when it circled over them to fire on the hunters. He had known since the 'crater' that it had not been luck. The HK was somehow under Weaver's control. He would have to talk to her about that sometime.

"Excuse me, John." His mother interrupted. "Most of John's 'missions' had only one goal. This is a goal that you need to have no matter what task you are assigned. 'Survival' as young as you are, you need to understand that much has been invested in your development far too much to be simply thrown away over heroics. 'Know your…' "

"Exits," the children chimed.

"John Connor and the sergeant, left something out? What was it?"

"They had not secured their line of retreat," said the little blonde girl.

"Remember that children. Always leave yourself an out. When things start to go wrong you cut your losses and come back home." She paused to let that sink in. "We need to break for lunch."

John watched. Allison and Savannah just got out of their way. Four of the children turned the two tables 90 degrees, and then rearranged the chairs around them. The other four went to the folded tables. Two of them lifted the top table and handed it to the other two who carried it to a specific location and unfolded it. The first four their tables realigned just got in line. Not a word was said. "That's just weird." Savannah to John's left just nodded. Allison watched without comment. John turned to Savannah "I need to speak to your mother."

Savannah turned to Sarah who was standing by the cafeteria's double doors. She nodded without looking away from the children.

"Come on." Savannah lead John followed. They walked away from the other tents after about twenty feet. Savannah said: "Allison and her class were the same. They were the second class like _that_. The academy has been here for nearly fifteen years John. There have been twelve graduating classes only one of the first six was like that, three of the last six are like that."

"It's increasing?"

"Dr Shelby says that the sample size is much too small to even try to determine a trend but he still finds it fascinating."

"How well do they operate in the field?"

"Very well that is until…"

"Until?"

"They start taking casualties."

"What happens?"

"They come apart. They seize up. When… when _they_ lost Carla the priest pulled them sent them back here. That's why there's a gap between Radice and them. They were here most of a year before they went to the Western Sector."

They stopped in front of the isolated tent. "John inside you will see some obvious security measures. Just… don't do anything stupid." She saw the look on his face. "Please, John, you were the one who thought it would be a good idea to for four people to fight twenty." She parted the flap.

The tent was the same size as his but that was the only similarity. In each corner was a guard, they were armed with plasma rifles. Just off set from the center of the tent to accommodate the pole was an acrylic box. It was four feet by four feet square and eight feet tall. Sitting with her legs crossed at the center of the box was Catherin Weaver. John looked at the box, at the guards, at Savannah. "They'd never get a shot off." John looked at Weaver. "How did you even get in there?"

"John. Savannah." Weaver stood and pointed about seven feet from the floor were a series of holes, they were about an inch and a half in diameter.

"How?"

"I _am_ a liquid John."

"But you went in there voluntarily?"

"Of course," she smiled.

John shook his head not comprehending. "I need to ask… Why did you send me to Lancaster?"

She smiled again. "How did you know?"

"They use runners. There wasn't enough time for the news to get to Tran and back again. It was only my _third_ night here."

"I needed time."

"For what?"

"To prepare John Henry's defenses."

The HK, he thought. No, that's wrong. The HK was used in _his_ defense. Not John Henry's.

"John, we should be going soon. Don't forget what you came here for." Her head turned sharply. "You're mother's coming."

The tent flap was pushed aside briefly lighting the gloomy tent. Sarah didn't even glance at Weaver. "John."

He turned.

"A runner is here," she said.

"A runner from Father Bonilla," John asked?

"No," she shook her head. "From Tran, the runner has a message for you." His mother looked passed him. "You want to come?"

"Sure."

There was a sound. A sound John couldn't understand. It was the sound of several gallons of air being sucked into the acrylic cell, through the small inch and a half diameter holes as Catherine Weaver flowed out of them. John saw his mother's eyes widen. He heard the collective gasps of everyone in the tent who saw it happen. John became aware of a presence behind him, where once had been nothing. Savannah said "mom." From behind him and to his right Weaver replied, "Savannah." What he did understand plainly was that she placed herself as close to him as possible to discourage the guards from firing their weapons.

"Why don't we… um… just head over to the cafeteria," Sarah said in the deepening silence.

At the cafeteria there were only six children playing "Finding John Connor" the other two were sitting in back to back chairs. The Marine captain had a deck of playing cards. He would hand one to former agent Cross and one to former agent Aldrige. They would show one card to one student and one card to the other. Then the students would try to guess the suit of the card their classmate was shown. Their responses were more often than not wrong, but the curious thing John noticed was that they never had to tell the student _when_ to guess. The 'experiment' was being watched over by Dr Shelby who was also keeping score. John seemed drawn to it.

Behind him he heard his mother say: "Where is she Marty?"

Marty answered, "she collapsed, mom. We sent her to the infirmary."

"You!" John could hear her pointing at him. He didn't have to turn around to see it. "Stay here." He nodded.

"Are… are they psychic?"

Savannah snorted. "John, that sounds like something out of science-fiction."

He just stared at her. "We are fighting artificially intelligent robots. You're mother is a…" John turned and looked at Weaver. "Are you a cyborg or not?"

"I am a far better definition of the term cybernetic organism than any of the endoskeleton based cyborgs their organic layer was the only part of them that was 'alive'. Whereas every 'cell' that makes up this body is, though metal, very much alive."

John nodded. He noticed Allison sitting at a table arms crossed over her chest watching the experiment. She looked angry. He reversed one of the chairs and sat beside her. She didn't even spare him a glance.

"They're lying you know," Allison whispered.

"Who?"

"Them." She gestured with her head. "Can't you hear them? Listen, John. Listen to them!"

The student facing him was the little blonde girl. She smiled at him and said: "Spades." John looked at Allison part of him knew she should have said 'hearts'. Aldridge held his card up so that Dr Shelby could see. It was a nine of hearts.

"How did you…"

"Know? John, you're the same as they are. The same as we were."

"What?"

"You could have walked into the bunker and said: 'I'm Abraham Lincoln', and I would have known it was you." Allison seemed to smile to herself. "John you scream. You walk into the room and I can barely hear myself think. You're like a fire alarm: "I'm John Connor!" How do you think the children knew who you were? It's not like we have posters up of you all over the place. It's not as if mom has a framed picture of you on her desk. No, you walked into the cafeteria and told everyone who could hear you who you were."

"Dalia?"

"Dalia is amazing! I wish I was half as good as she is!"

"She was acting?"

Allison nodded. "She's good but she's also very sensitive.-That's what Dr Shelby said. These kids are smarter than we were. We cooperated with them and their tests. They know better-. Being so close to you for that long was probably very aggravating. I noticed that she avoided you when we were at the Delta bunker."

"Do I annoy you?"

Allison laughed. "All the time! –No, I'm kidding. I'm deaf as a post John."

"But you said…"

"That's just how loud you are." John nodded unsure.

The cafeteria door banged open. "John!" His mother took off. John followed her to another tent. He could hear someone coming up behind him. "She insists on talking to you. She's on IV fluids. Williams is pissed that I won't let her sedate her. She needs rest John be quick. She's got a good fever, so she's not all there."

The tent was large, almost as large as the cafeteria. Beds lined the wall only one was occupied. He stood at the foot of the bed. "I'm John Connor," he said though his first thought was 'oh shit'. He looked to his left his mom was at the infirmary doors, behind her was Allison. He caught his mother's eye, glanced at Allison and mouthed: 'out'.

His mother immediately backed Allison away from the door.

The woman was older and the ensuing years hadn't been kind. Living on the streets would do that to you he guessed. Her skin was red from sunburn, her eyes swollen down to slits. Her hair was darker she said: "I thought you'd be older." Her voice was a hoarse whisper. Her comment was a throw-away line, just being a smart ass. Then she leaned forward squinting, John thought, but could barely tell. "I know you," she said, it was more of a question then a statement.

"I know you too." What were the chances John wondered.

She coughed a laugh, and then looked left and then right. "Where's that crazy bitch sister of yours?"

Long Beach, I think. "Around."

"Don't lie to me."

"What?"

"You're not Connor. You're Baum or something."

John could almost see the gears meshing in her head.

"Holy shit. You're _that_ Connor!"

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"You're a terrorist!"

"We prefer the term 'resistance fighter'."

"Wait, you're supposed to be dead."

"I am?"

"Yeah, you died trying to blow up some computer company."

"I did?"

"There was this big investigation!"

"There was?"

"Yeah, and then… and then… the world ended." She fell back into her cot.

"It did?"

She was talking to the ceiling. "Yeah, some of them called it: 'the Apocalypse', or 'Judgment day'. On the streets we called it 'the Shit'." John could hear the last of the gears grinding away. "What the fuck!" It could have been a cough. "You should be thirty years old!"

"I should," John agreed. "Now what was Tran's message."

The woman shook her head confused. "He wants to meet with you in forty eight hours or he attacks."

"When did you leave?"

"Two days ago."

"So it's already been forty eight hours?"

"Probably."

"Why didn't he send the message to the Priest?"

"He didn't want to talk to the Priest. He wanted to talk to you."

John nodded. He's sending another message too. 'I know where you are.'

"Where am I supposed to meet him?"

"In the buffer zone."

"Where in the buffer zone?"

"He said you'd know it when you saw it."

"John," the nurse touched him lightly on the arm.

"I know. I got what I needed. Thank you." He turned and walked to the door.

"Hey," John turned. "Tell that bitch sister of yours that she still owes me."

"Yeah… yeah, I'll do that." He stepped out of the infirmary. He looked at his mother. "I need to meet Tran."

"When?"

"Now."

His mother turned calling for Marty. Allison looked at him. "She knew you… from… from before."

John glanced at her. "Yes."

"Is that why you kept me out of the room?"

John ignored the question. "Get your stuff. Get my stuff. We're leaving."

"Mom!"

She turned and looked.

"Tran knows. You need to move this camp."

She nodded. "John, you're taking Weaver?"

"Yes."

"Allison?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "Get going John."

He just stood there and stared at her. She turned away to issue more orders. She was sending out runners to bring in the patrols. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him still there. "Go, John." She turned back yelled some more. He watched her look down and away. She rounded on him and hugged him fiercely. He could hear the tears in her voice: "Now go!"

He went.

It was a military hummer the turret mounted a pair of plasma rifles. Weaver was in the front passenger seat next to Marty. There was a gunner in the cab. Allison was sitting next to the gunner, she kept looking at him. John sat in the back. He ignored her and stared out the back of the truck. Ahead of them about a hundred feet was a 'technical' a pick-up truck with a rotary plasma rifle scavenged John guessed from an HK or a Centaur. It was getting towards twilight.

"You need to sleep," she said.

John only nodded, it was nearly 26 hours since either of them had slept. They'd been on the road for three, would be on the road for at least another ten before they got to Lakewood. Their route to the city was extended because of the subsidence. Even then there would be no rest he would have to find where he was supposed to meet with Tran. He looked down at his AR he pulled his backpack into his lap to get his cleaning kit. Inside his pack which was all but empty, they had never made it back to their cache was his father's rolled up coat. He pulled that out beneath it was the sealed manila envelope. Simultaneously something fell with a thump into the bed of the hummer. It was the watch. He looked up at Allison.

"You forgot those."

John again nodded he put the watch in his breast pocket. He looked at the envelope it was small three by five. It was stiff. He was tempted to open it but he knew what it was. He shoved it into his other breast pocket. He pulled out his cleaning kit and broke his rifle down.

By the time they got to Lakewood John really wished he had the coffee at breakfast. They bypassed the bunker another pair of 'technicals' were escorting them now. Two up front one to their rear. The gunner was up in the turret, it was a motorized turret it hummed as the gunner turned it. Roberto had taken the gunner's seat and was talking. John just stared out the back of the hummer.

They had moved a third brigade up into the buffer zone. They defended a continuous line from the 'front' in a very shallow 'c' that curved around the Lakewood bunker. At the far right of the 'c' and perpendicular to it were two battalions of the 130th and 125th remnants the rest it were one over sized scratch battalion made up of almost 5 combat companies were harassing Tran and Bell's flank and rear areas. Kyle and Radice had done well they had managed to save more than half of the two shattered brigades.

Tran was to their west. His brigade the 143rd sat directly opposite 2nd divisions 201st the three brigade defensive line stretched far beyond either side of the 143rd's.

"Does he have patrols out?" It was the first thing John had said in more 5 hours. Roberto was so surprised it brought his report to a halt. Allison started in her seat.

"Y…yes, but not in the buffer zone.

"You think he's trying not to provoke a fight?"

"Yes."

John just nodded, but he didn't agree. "Do we have patrols out?"

There was a pause. "Sort of."

"What do you mean?" John spoke softly he seemed to be more interested in the swirling dust behind them. In another time his subordinates had learned dread this mood.

"We have patrols in the buffer zone."

"But nothing beyond it?"

"Munoz has patrols as far out as Golf 8."

"Munoz?"

"He was the highest ranking officer we could find from the combined 125th/130th. He's a security Captain we've temporarily elevated him to Major."

"Security?"

"He had combat experience, but lost an arm, and so was relegated to 'security'."

John nodded. That's to our north and west. Are there any patrols to our due west?"

"No, but there is no need."

John finally turned his head and looked at Roberto. Allison flinched as his gazed swept passed her. She had never seen anyone so coldly angry in her life. "No need?"

Roberto didn't notice. "The 'front' is secure."

John sighed. "Get patrols out beyond the buffer zone north of the 'front'. We need t know what's going on north of there. We need eyes as far out as 'India'," he said referring to their maps. "'Hotel' would be better, but 'India' will work. Send them out. Send them out _now_."

"How do I do that?"

"Tell them." John nodded to the truck behind them.

Allison tapped Marty on the shoulder the convoy slowed to a stop. Roberto got out talked to the driver. John watched. Roberto's gesticulations the movements were of someone explaining to someone else that they were being told to do something unnecessary and that they were just humoring their 'betters'. John was tempted to leave him. Roberto got back into the hummer his smile was broad as if he had accomplished some great feat. John wanted to erase it. "Done," Roberto said. "The patrols will be out in an hour or so." The truck behind them backed up and turned off to their left heading down the length of the buffer zone.

The tiny convoy began to move again. John took a deep breath and stared out the back again. He understood that they were worried about Tran. Tran was directly to their front but Tran wasn't the enemy. Well, if he was he wasn't their only enemy.

Jody had been right, their headquarters were obvious. A barricade of lumpy sandbags surrounded most of the city block. The barricade was tall almost reaching to the second floor of the buildings they surrounded. John guessed that they were lumpy because they weren't filled with sand but with debris. He also guessed that on the back side of the wall was a fire step. He was impressed all this in roughly 72 hours. Tran's people were certainly good. They had already been stopped once at 500 meters and now again at 100 meters. Marty had done all the talking all he said was "John Connor."

It was sunset when they stopped. It was a brick faced building at least two stories portions of the second floor were gone. John couldn't tell if that had been the results of J-day, a post J-day quake, or barricade construction. Allison touched him on the shoulder. John nodded and climbed out of the back of the hummer. He left his AR and his sidearm and waited for the others. The shells of buildings around them were dotted with snipers. At either side of the building's entrance were light machine guns. Separate from the barricade was a mortar pit, it too was heavily debris bagged. John noted that of the three mortars two were aimed west. The machine guns and the mortars were covered with camouflage netting. He looked up at the pastel colored sky.

Allison stepped up beside him "a lot of snipers."

John nodded. "He's trying to impress us."

"He hasn't impressed me", she said.

John glanced at her. He noticed that even though she was beside him, she was watching behind him. He smiled to himself.

"They couldn't know what time we were arriving."

John nodded his agreement.

"Not impressed."

John looked at her. Her eyes flicked to his then back to the buildings behind him.

"Those snipers have been out all day. In the full sun, an HK could have wiped them all out."

John nodded again. "I'm sure he has RPGs to back them up."

This time Allison nodded. "Right," she said her voice heavy with sarcasm. "Risk even more people. Not impressed," she repeated.

John nodded to the logic of her argument and then led them as they approached the entrance a young man sitting on the bags beside one of the machine guns stood. He looked them all over. Turned to Roberto, the eldest of them and said: "John Connor?" Roberto nodded towards John. The young man turned past John and looked at Marty. "John…"

John directly in front of the man cut him off: "I'm John Connor."

The man smiled a big toothy smile as if this were a joke. He glanced at John's party and understood that no one else was grinning. He reigned in his smile. "The General wonders if you would like to postpone your meeting until tomorrow morning. You must be tired…"

"No," John said. "We'll see the General now."

The man nodded, turned and led them into the building. It was dimly lit and filled with soldiers. They eyed them as they walked passed. His security detail, thought John. They looked grim and hard. As tough looking as any troops he saw in the 130th. The thought cheered him.

They snaked passed some boxed supplies and the open back door he saw another mortar pit the crew sleeping in and around it. They climbed a set of stairs and back into the pink glow of sunset.

The man gestured them to wait at the stairs. John glanced around. The walls were uniformly shoulder high. They had pulled them down. They had also pulled down the building's interior walls making the floor a single massive room. More camouflage netting covered the open ceiling. In one corner were a cluster of runners, John guessed. They were all young and small. In another corner were about a dozen more most were sleeping these were all armed. In the far corner where the young man went was the only furniture on the floor a table. There was a cluster of people standing around it talking they were debating, John could tell, their movements quick and angry. The young man waited at the edge of the cloud.

Directly in front of John was a young girl. She was armed as was her companion. She was staring at him, almost daring him to make eye contact. John stepped around her to make room for the others. She stepped in front of him. She looked him up and down. She was trying to intimidate him. John thought about what she saw his new BDUs, his mostly new boot, that fact that he was unarmed. He met her eye and said "I'm John Connor". He said it loud enough for everyone on the floor to hear.

Across the way he saw a tall thin Asian man glance towards him. He looked to the young man who was still trying to get his attention. The girl her eyes wide stepped back. Behind her the soldiers were kicking they're sleeping comrades awake. To John's left the runners were staring. Weaver was standing close beside him to his left. He hadn't noticed her.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. "Can you clear this room?"

"Certainly, but most of their snipers are out of my range."

John nodded. He glanced to his left and saw Allison. "Marty and Roberto stay with the stairs. You and Weaver are with me."

Allison nodded.

The young man was back he was smiling with embarrassment. "The General will see you now." Across the building the cloud of officers dispersed they gravitated towards the walls not leaving just stepping away from the General and his table.. John with Allison and Weaver in tow walked towards it. The man turned and stopped. "Alone," he added.

John just walked around him Allison and Weaver followed. The young man hurried to arrive at the table ahead of them and introduced them. "General Tran Duc Michael." The man turned and extended his hand. John shook it. "General John Connor and… company."

"General Connor." The tall thin man said.

"General Michael." John replied.

Tran smiled and dismissed the young man with a wave. "Very good!" His eyes glanced to the wall where the young man stood. "Some people's ideas linger in the past." Then back to John. "Before the war I was Michael Tran, now as a General I am Tran Duc Michael. To be honest I tend to respond much faster to my anglicized name." There was only the slightest pause. "I expected you to be… older."

John could only shrug. "I get that a lot."

Tran continued, "if you wish to be formal I could address you as General Conner and could address me as General Tran, otherwise Michael will do."

"John," John replied. He decided that telling Tran he had only been accepted into 'tech-com' a little more than a week ago would be counterproductive.

Tran gestured to the paper on the table. It was a map John had never seen it before but he recognized it. It was downtown. Tran flipped the map over. John noticed it was the same heavy paper they used at the Academy. This was also a map John was unfamiliar with but he could guess. It was a map of the buffer zone. Along the edge closest to John were circles on ill defined street corners and road ways. Tran looked down at the map and swept his hand across it. "We have scouted nearly thirty strong points in your line. My mortars are targeted and loaded with a single command I could knock out your defenses leaving your troops unprotected _and_ leaderless."

John shook his head. "But you won't." Tran looked up at John. "See, there are only three reasons we are having this conversation: one," he lifted up the piece of paper on the edge of the table. "You read one of the pamphlets and agree." He let it fall. The piece of paper fluttered down missed the table and end up on the floor. John looked at all the men who lined the walls, none moved to rescue it. He looked at Tran again. "Two, your supply situation is far worse than expected. In which case I need only wait for the smelling of roasting chickens to waft across the line and accept the surrender of your troops." John didn't wait for a response he flipped the map back over. "Three," he tapped the far side of the map closest to Tran north and west of downtown. "They are coming. They are coming," John repeated "and you need us. For two weeks there was nothing from the metal. So you moved. Thinking it was your chance, and now you're out in the open. Moving through bunkers stripped of people and supplies and you need me."

Trans smiled looked away to the shortened walls. "How old are you?" He seemed to ask them. He didn't wait for an answer. "Sixteen? Seventeen? You've been trying to kill me since you were… What? Eight?" He finally looked at John. "Why?"

"You were a threat," Allison's unsolicited response came from behind John. Tran's eyes shifted from John to Allison and back again.

"I saw what you did to Martin. He was my friend."

"Then you know what he did to _my_ friends." He gestured over his shoulder towards downtown. "Dozens of them are out there." John saw a distance in his eyes that bothered him, not understanding that a similar distance resided in his own. "Some of them have shallow graves most just rotted in the streets where they fell."

Bleached skulls John thought. "_We_ wanted you to fight for _us_."

"I know." Both men were looking down at the map as if the answers to their questions could be found there.

John looked at Tran. "We have a common enemy." He thought about Weaver not five behind him and smiled. "We can settle our differences later."

"Right," Tran smiled back. John found his smile as disturbing as Weaver's.

John gestured to the detail map of Downtown. "Parks?"

"Yes. He's falling back through downtown. There are bunkers there that he will try to hold."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You tell me. You're the Leader of Mankind."

John chose to ignore the sarcasm. "Do we know where Skynet's forces are?"

Tran drew a circle around downtown encompassing the entire map. "He's reported contacts with hostiles along his entire front. What you can do right now to help is get that monkey off our backs."

"Monkey?"

Tran laughed. "Not sure who he is but he's good." He looked at John. "The supply situation _is_ tight." There was a polite cough from one of the walls. "Ignore that. But whoever you've got in our backfield is making it much harder."

"I can do that." John called over his shoulder "Roberto!"

"Sir?"

"Get a runner out to the 125th/130th they are to cease operations against the 143rd and the 117th." John pulled the copy of the map up in his head. "I want them up in Golf and Echo north of downtown I want them harassing metal."

Roberto blinked at John. "I don't have a…"

John was looking at Tran again. "Then get one." He added over his shoulder, "not Allison and send a handful back here!" John could hear the scrap of boots on the wood floor and then the rumble down the stairs as Roberto descended them in a rush.

"John? Marty is fidgeting." Allison said from behind him.

Crap. He was tired too many things were happening at once. He was forgetting things without turning he replied. "Oh. Right. Send him home, tell him to keep mom safe. Thank you Marty." He called over his shoulder. He tapped the map. "Do you want to move up and support Parks here?"

"Ok."

"Bring some 125th/130th troops up on Parks' right. You on his left. One of eastern sector brigades on your left a second behind it supporting it."

"Got us in the front and the middle again," Tran smirked at him.

"You're good there."

"That third brigade?"

"Leave it on this line here just in case." They discussed their troop movements and supply concerns for another three hours. During that time a half dozen eastern sector runners arrived four were dispatched John kept two with him.

They parted. Tran caught John's eye. "If all goes well we'll settle our differences after the battle."

"If it doesn't go well?"

Tran laughed, it was a grim laugh. "Then we'll have settle our differences in hell!"

They climbed into the truck. They insisted that John ride in the cab. He looked at the driver, "downtown." He looked at Allison. "What do you we have west of downtown, along Golf?"

"Nothing that's 'indian territory' even downtown is mostly observation posts for laying ambushes, gathering intel and spotting for artillery."

Great troops that gained whatever experience they might have from fighting behind walls were going to be out in the open. "What's the terrain like there?"

"A lot of open areas metal like open ground. Some rubble very little in the way of human buildings they tried to build some factories there but we torch a most of those."

John nodded he looked at Weaver. "What do you have in the field?"

She cocked an eye brow looked at the other passengers in the trucks bed and then decided that if John wasn't worried then why should she. "I have 143 elements, of which perhaps 60 are combat capable."

"So I can't expect too much help."

"No."

"Where is he?"

"My resources are scatters some are immobile or nearly so." John thought about the rat. How fast could it move? How far could it go? Does it ever get tired? What kind of fuel supply does it have? He looked at Weaver. What kind of fuel supply does she have?

Catherine leaned forward towards the cab. "My assets in and around Long Beach suggest that the area is free of Skynet influence. Understand John that much of the data that I receive is audio only but there is weapon discharges, primary and secondary explosions in and around the areas north of downtown. Points east of there, such as the Delta Seven bunker seem quiet. Like your eastern sector friends I have only a few resources between downtown and the sea."

"What combat capable units do you have?"

Without hesitation without acknowledging how potentially damaging this information could be Weaver told him. "I have two HKs, a single Centaur, a damaged Ogre, and 47 endos of a variety of models."

John's eyes _must_ have bugged. "How?"

"The same way you did. I reprogrammed them. Understand John that the total number of those units is limited. John Henry lacks the manufacturing capabilities of Skynet, and since I have been in your company I have been unable to add more units. Attrition hurts us. I cannot both protect you and capture units. A week ago we had another HK, another Ogre and another half dozen endos." Her eyes flicked to a very attentive Allison. "My primary mission is to keep John Henry safe to that end I have captured Skynet assets and turned them against him. My secondary mission is to see you safely to John Henry. The creation of a Skynet free area furthers that end. Keeping Skynet off balance keeps you safe but it is not my mission to win this war. That, if it is at all possible, lies entirely with you."

It was 3am when they found a 'bunker'. John hadn't slept in roughly 58 hours. It would have been Golf Seven, if it had rated a designation. They parked the truck so that the only thing visible was the twin plasma rifles. The driver, the gunner and the two remaining runners stayed with it. John climbed out of the cab and threw his pack over one shoulder. The bunker was small its primary purpose was to observe Metal. Allison banged on the door it was a specific series of bangs three quick, a pause and two slow. It was a runner knock, John guessed. The door banged back, and opened. The man at the door carried an AK. He looked at Allison, John and Catherine. He was expecting one person, not three. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm John Connor."

"Who?"

John looked at Allison. "I get that too."

She just looked at him puzzled.

"Who is your commanding officer?" John said with more authority than you would expect from a 16 year old who hadn't slept in more than two days.

"Captain Fitzgerald."

"I need to speak to him." John moved forward to step passed the man.

The man short and barrel chested brought his weapon across his chest bodily barring the door. "Captain," he called over his shoulder.

"What's the message?" A voice called out.

"There's a John Connor here to see you sir."

There was a pause and then a startled "oh. Show him in Sergeant." The man stepped aside he was eyeing John. The Sergeant was warning him that if any harm came to his captain it would be entirely his fault. John thought that he was probably right.

The Captain was standing at a narrow slit in the wall he was looking over his shoulder at John hanging from his neck were a pair of binoculars. "We got a runner in from the _west_." He put emphasis on the word west implying that as far as he had known his command had been the west. "The message said to keep an eye out for you." He sounded pleased that he was no longer the flank. "But I still don't know who you are." The man blinked. "Sorry," he stuck out his hand. "Captain Fitzgerald Bravo Company, of the 143rd."

John shook his hand. "John Connor Alpha Company 130th."

"No rank?"

"I'm just an observer Captain. What have you got? What have you seen?"

The man nodded. "We've been in this position for three hours. It's not much of a position. I've got trenches dug along our front." He looked at John. "I thought we were the end of the line. I've got my three platoons spread out two to the right towards Charlie Company. I've got one platoon to our left towards an element of the 230th." He looked back out bunker.

"Where's your forth platoon?" John asked as he dropped his pack at his feet. They might be here a while.

"Behind us."

"We never saw them."

The captain looked through his binoculars he smiled. "Good. You're not supposed to."

"Where are you heavy weapons?"

"I've got two mortars behind us and a pair of .50 cals."

"No plasma rifles?"

"No." He sounded disappointed.

"I've got a pair mounted on my truck. We can give you some close up support."

The captain smiled and seemed, for the first time, pleased by John' intrusion. "Thank you."

"The plasma rifle for all the damage it can do is limited."

John just looked at the man.

He glanced at John, "it's a line of sight weapon. It can't do indirect fire. To increase its range you have to elevate it and in this terrain that just makes you a target." He returned his attention to the view.

John could only nod. "Anything," he asked. Terror weapons not weapons of war, his mother had said.

"Nothing some rumbling off to our east, but it seems likely that we are going to miss this dance."

John didn't think so he looked out: to his right were the shattered and torn towers of downtown; in front of him was a blasted ruin may be a thousand feet away was a road somehow clear of debris. He saw movement fifteen feet in front of him and realized he was looking at resistance fighters. They were still quietly stacking debris in front of themselves. "Do you have patrols out?"

The man scoffed. "I've got two squads out in front of us."

John nodded. "How does he fight?" He saw the Fitzgerald pull the binoculars away from his eyes there was a question forming on his face. "The metal I mean." John clarified.

He let the binoculars fall to his chest. "Usually he sends his Aerial HKs in first trying to flush us out and then some endos to protect and screen the centaurs or the ogres." He stopped and thought. "Skynet doesn't understand artillery very rarely do they use their mortars to soften up a position before they attack."

John thought about that for ten minutes and then fifteen more. John looked up.

There was a whine and a hum soft but insistent and then 500 feet to their front an HK cleared the edge of a tall building. Its spotlight was off. It was 40 feet in the air apparently trying to use the buildings as cover. It was low enough that the wash from its engines created a dust cloud beneath it.

"There you are." The captain said to himself. The HK turned on its axis first away from them then back towards them. Even at this distance John could see its strange articulated almost fluke like tail, it turned again facing towards the west. Its engine's angled back to give it more speed. It looked like it was going to continue on parallel to their trench. There was a coughing sound and a hiss followed by two more. "Dammit," the captain cursed under his breath. "Trigger happy bastards." The HK paused then abruptly turned towards them. He could see the belly mounted plasma turret swivel too late. Three explosions walked across the machine. The first was direct hit on the near side engine pod. The second struck the hull between the two stubby wings and the third took off its nose. It shuddered in the air and then seemed to inflate like a balloon a fireball lit the landscape. John turned away too late to save his night vision. The remaining engine spun the shattered hull down into the rubble. The first engine struck the ground and its own torque spun it into a nearby building that shook with the impact.

"Now come the endos?"

"May be it might have just out scouting."

Again John didn't think so and then he saw figures running toward them. "One of your patrols?"

Fitzgerald peered through his binoculars.

John bent, his pack was at his feet he picked it up surprised that it was so light. Then he remembered that his binoculars were buried in a cache in the desert. Something thumped into the wall by his head. Something bright lit the tiny bunker then banged against the far wall. There was a popping sound and a hot wet liquid splashed across John's back soaking him. There was another bang behind him and a startled sound. The wall ahead of him thumped again.

The world went black. He could still hear so he knew he wasn't dead. Not yet anyway but he couldn't see a thick sticky liquid had run into his eyes. It was almost scalding. He stayed down they were under fire he knew better than to stand up. He leaned back into a crouch and tried scooping the viscous fluid out of his eyes. Something slid off his back and hit the ground behind him with the sound of a wet mop head hitting the floor.

"Are you all right, John?" It was Allison a hand touched his back and recoiled. "Jesus," she said. He could hear the rustle of fabric as she crossed herself. "Let me help."

The door banged. 'Bang-bang. Bang. Bangbangbang." Someone banged back. John thought it sounded like the runner code. A soft fabric was wiping at his face. John could open his eyes, it was Allison. "Stay low. We need to get out of here." She lead him by the hand him towards the door in his other hand was his pack.

They had to step over the captain. His arms were stretched out wide like an obscene crucifix. His ribs had burst apart at the sternum and John could see no internal organs. That was when John realized that his legs were still at the front of the bunker three steps away. The bunker door opened and ground to a stop wedged against something. It was the sergeant a grapefruit sized lump of concrete and iron was pressed deep into his face. It looked comical John had to stifle the urge to laugh. He was going into shock. He took a deep breath his mouth and nose filled with the smell of roasting meat. He wanted to gag.

There was a face in the partly open door the man looked confused. "Who are you?"

"Captain John Connor 130th I'm part of Munoz's staff." With the exception of Weaver they were all crouched low.

"Lieutenant Kassar, sir." He grunted as he pushed in on the door. "Aren't you…"

"Young," John finished for him as they stepped into night chill.

"I was going to say uncomfortable." The man reached out and brushed a loop of what must have been part of an intestine off of John's shoulder.

"Oh." He forced a smile.

"Get rid of that John." John stripped off the sticky BDU top. He let it fall to the dusty ground behind the bunker he stepped away from it. The cold air attacked the back of his shirt, it was wet. He tore that off he remembered he had a clean one in his pack. He put that on and then his father's coat.

He looked at the lieutenant behind them he could hear the metallic hiss of plasma rifles. He remembered Fitzgerald say they didn't have any. "Get that .50 cal going!"

The man turned to run. The gunner on the truck opened up. The glare lit up the back of the bunker. John could read the graffiti. A line of tracers streaked over their heads followed by the belated "krump krump krump krump" sound of the weapon firing.

He turned back to John he opened his mouth. John interrupted him: "What's going on out there?" He yelled his ears were still ringing.

"A half dozen endos and a centaur. The endos were right on top of the tank, sir. By the time we saw them the tank had taken out the bunker." There was a thump that John felt in his chest a plume of dust rose up higher than the top of the bunker. John went to circle the side of the bunker. Allison went to stop him.

"I need to see what's happening." He remembered the binoculars. John looked at the bunker it shuddered. He could hear the strange sliding metal sound. Lights flashed inside it escaping around the edges of the door which rang with the blasts. The roof sagged at its middle bending the door almost double as it collapsed. A plasma bolt seared into the night over their heads. They were all looking up. John stepped around them and ran for the trench. He wasn't even carrying his sidearm.

He dropped into the trench. The chunks of concrete and scraps of metal dug into his knees. He peered over the edge. One endo was down something was wrong with its legs, it was trying to drag itself across the road towards them. The centaur had lost its left tread it was at an angle to the trench, its starboard cannon could not be brought to bear on them. This did not affect its port side multi barrel plasma cannon which ripped a stream of plasma into the night sky.

Four mortar rounds banged along the road. They sent the damaged endo skidding into the side of the Centaur. Sheared the Centaur's remaining tread and tossed another endo back off the road and down an unseen embankment. John looked at the road it was hardly marked by the mortar rounds. "That's not asphalt."

A hand dragged him below the skyline. "No," said Allison. "It's some sort of ceramic." To John's right he saw a man with an RPG rise up to shoot. He exploded. His rocket cut diagonally across their front and blew the legs off of a second endo. It had been a lucky shot. As he watched another fighter picked up the rocket launcher and wiped off the gore. She reloaded the weapon. Another soldier tapped her on the shoulder and waved her down the trench towards them.

The soldier ran passed in a crouch her face grim. The three intact endos retreated to the road creating a perimeter around the disabled Centaur. The forth endo climbed back onto the road. Little troubled by its near miss with the mortar. They continued to fire. For John this could only mean one thing. "Get the lieutenant." Allison took off.

John watched as the legless endo crawled back to the others. Plumes of dust shot up into the air some nearly as tall as the Centaur. It took John a moment to figure out it was taking fire from the .50. It was like watching someone using a garden hose. The shots fell sporadically until they found their mark and then the rounds hammered the metal into the dust with a crack the endos' plasma rifle failed the bang that followed rattled their trench.

The lieutenant landed beside him. "What do you need sir?"

"You need to gather your Company and fall back."

"I can't sir. Our orders are to hold this position."

"Do you see that out there? Do you see what they are doing?"

He glanced over the side. "They are protecting that Centaur."

"Why?"

"Because we are trying to destroy it?"

John almost laughed. "They are going to try and recover it."

"I understand that sir."

"That means more of them are coming."

"I understand that sir. But my orders are to hold this position."

"Lieutenant do you understand that this position is untenable?"

"That may be sir, but I'm going to hold it."

John looked at Allison who replied with the barest shake of her head. "Move the technical to the right side of the bunker and have it fire on that Centaur." She looked at him. She's going to refuse, John thought. She seemed to think about it, but then she turned and ran back to the truck. He turned to the lieutenant, "bring your 4th platoon down here. We are going to need them."

John looked to his right at the soldier with the RPG. "Sergeant!"

The man looked up and pointed at his chest. "Me sir?" The soldier yelled back. They were about 50 feet apart.

"Yeah," John yelled back.

"I'm not a Sergeant."

"Kill that Centaur and you will be. Where is that third RPG?" The soldier gestured passed him farther to the right. "Fine, like that HK kill. All of you hit it. Do whatever you need to do just get it done."

John ran in a crouch around the shattered bunker. The lieutenant, Allison and Weaver were there. "I just sent a runner to get the platoon."

John nodded to the lieutenant. "I'm going to need a squad when they get here."

"To do what?"

"To save your lives." There was the same coughing and hissing sound. John looked up startled. "That was quick." There were three loud pops, then a bang, that rocked the technical. The gunner had grabbed hold of the side of the truck for support.

"Holy shit," Allison crossed herself again.

"What squad is at the front of the bunker?"

"Second." Kassar said automatically.

"I need them," he left before the lieutenant could respond. He ran around the side of the bunker. "Second squad!" He circled his finger over his head. They came to him. John was amazed at their discipline. He looked at the soldier with the RPG tube. "Sergeant" the man grinned. "We need those plasma rifles. We've got something under a minute." They looked at him like he was crazy. "Let's go!"

John vaulted the trench wall and ran. His gut twisted with fear that he was the only one running. The damaged endo was still moving crawling toward the wreckage it was dragging its plasma rifle with it. A pair of plasma bolts ripped over John's head instinctively he ducked his head. The first cut the endos arm off. The second sent it skidding across the road and down the embankment. That plasma rifle was maybe six hundred feet away. He wasn't even half way to there. He yelled over his shoulder "Whoever gets to the first rifle," he took a labored breath. "Start taking head shots!" He could hear them then, their feet pounding behind him. His heart soared they _had_ followed him!

He wasn't at his best. He was already starting to slow down. Exhaustion he thought, it must be close to sixty hours since he last slept.

He was flagging. Someone sprinted passed him on the left, they were going for the nearest rifle. He bore to the right for the second one. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that it was Allison. She scooped up the rifle, brought it up and fired never breaking stride. The bolt smashed and obliterated the skull of the endo that he was running towards. John loved her then. He was a hundred feet from the road. He picked up the rifle and slid to a stop. He dropped to one knee and aimed at the endo to his left. He tried controlling his breathing. He fired. Hit the prone endo in the shoulder it slid away from its plasma rifle giving whoever got it an extra 30 feet. He turned to his right an endo was rising to its knees. He fired, the gun rocked as it reset and he hit endo in the chest another bolt took the top of its head off. Then the 'Sergeant' was their picking up that rifle and aiming towards his left he fired. John looked, the RPG girl had that rifle the endo that John had shot was reaching for her, but the back of its head was a molten mass. About a hundred feet to John's right two troopers were struggling with the last rifle. One went down John could see the silver fist protruding from its back. The survivor jumped out of reach and killed the endo with its own weapon. "Fall back," he called out. He was grinning they had them all five rifles.

He took a step back and saw something on the road. "Allison?"

"Yes," she said from behind him.

"Will that thing still work?" He pointed at the object.

"I don't know."

"Sergeant!" The man looked at him. John gestured with his head pointed with his plasma rifle. The Centaur was still burning the heat from it was intense. John handed his rifle to the 'Sergeant'. He grabbed the object by one of its barrels and hissed it was still hot. He circled it and grabbed a part of its mount and dragged it away from the tank. It weighed more than a hundred pounds.

"Hey," John heard the Sergeant say. "Give him a hand." Two other soldiers were beside him "Be careful those barrels are still hot." They drug the cannon back to the trench.

"How does it work," John asked.

"Don't know. I'm not a techie." Kassar replied.

Allison was staring down at it. To John it was an ugly mess, the housing was cracked and a tangle of wires and conduits protrude from the top of it.

She looked at John. "Ms Weaver?" Weaver was there. She looked down at the weapon. "Does it still work," Allison asked.

Weaver reached out and touched it. "I don't know." She was giving Allison a look. "I'm going to need some tools."

Allison nodded. "There should be a toolbox in the back of the truck." The two of them lifted the cannon with a grunt and carried it back behind the bunker.

John handed his rifle to another soldier. To the lieutenant he said: "I want 2nd squad in that building." It was the one that had screened the HK earlier.

Kassar looked at it. "They'll be isolated."

John nodded "but they can enfilade this field."

"You still think they are coming?"

"I know it."

"But why, that Centaur is dead."

John shook his head, "The Centaur was incidental." He gestured to the bunker. "This position is strategically insignificant." He looked at the road a half a dozen or more mortar rounds had not so much as dented it. He turned back to the lieutenant. "What's important is your command. They are coming to kill you and your command."

"But why? It doesn't make sense?"

"No it doesn't make sense, but it's what they do. It's all they do."

Kassar just stared at him.

"Get your defense's ready. If they can get it to work mount that cannon just below the bunker. Get your mortar crews targeting the embankment just beyond the road same with the .50 cal. I want to hit them before they can hit us. I'm going to take a nap."


	10. Chapter 10

Livin' in the Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 10

-John

John was curled up across the truck's bench seat. He'd been sleeping for nearly two hours when Allison came to wake him. "John. John." She only opened the door halfway the hinge creaked when the door was opened all the way.

"Yeah?"

"Something's happening. Ms Weaver told me to wake you."

John sat up for a moment he forgot where he was. Sleeping in the cabs of trucks was nothing new. And he'd been waking up to the devastation of Los Angeles for nearly three weeks. So novelty of _that_ had long worn off it was the combination of the two that confused him. "Ms Weaver?" He heard himself ask. He looked at Allison. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. "Have you had any sleep?"

She smiled it was a kind of sad half smile. "More than you."

John nodded. He slid out of the seat pushing the door the rest of the way open. It creaked. Allison winced. He glanced around walked away from the truck and nonchalantly closed the door. The door closed with an audible thud. Allison cringed, and moved to catch up with him. "What did she say?"

"She said she _heard_ something." Allison emphasized the word, and John knew that she was referring to one of Weaver's 'resources'.

He looked at Allison sideways, and nodded. "What's going on?" He asked as they passed what had been the ruined bunker's entrance.

Allison stopped. She looked worried. "He sent out a runner."

John stopped. "What?"

"While you were sleeping Kassar sent out a runner."

John shoved his hands deep into pockets of his father's coat. It was still chilly out probably in the upper 40s. He looked down beside him was his gore stained BDU top. It had already turned black. There were no flies he wondered about that. He looked at Allison again and nodded. "So Tran will know I'm here."

"We should leave this place. It isn't safe."

Dramatically he gestured to the world at large. "Where _is_ safe?"

"From Tran," she said.

John looked down at his boots and smiled at the distinction. "Let's go find out what Weaver wants." They turned around the edge of the bunker, and up the rubble pile. Over his shoulder he asked: "What's the lieutenant been doing?" When he turned back to the front he saw. "Oh." He stopped in midstride.

The trench and the remains of the bunker were six feet above the surface of the road, which was nearly a thousand feet away. The ground sloped almost imperceptibly to the distant road. When he last saw it was empty except for the debris from the skirmish. The wreckage of the battle were still there. But now there were discreet piles of rubble in lines they alternated and checkered the field like a chess board the three lines were two hundred feet apart. "Mines?" He looked over his shoulder at Allison.

She nodded.

He turned back to look. "Claymores?" He could just see the ghosts of the trails of wires that led back to the trench.

"Yes."

"They aren't going to do much."

"No," she agreed. "But they might slow them down. Buy us some time." She did not sound hopeful.

John looked left and right along the line of the trench. He didn't see any humans he recognized. "Second squad?"

"In the building," Allison gestured with her head. To the right of the trench, about 100 feet away, was a mangled office tower only four floors remained. John had no way of knowing how many might be missing. The front of the building abutted Skynet's road.

John turned and looked up at the front of the bunker, it was pitted from plasma hits, rebar was visible over roughly a quarter of its surface and some of that was deformed by the heat. He could see where the observation port, a slit in the reinforced concrete, had been eaten away. He turned away and looked down.

He looked at Weaver who was crouched next to the device. "How does it… work?" _It_ was the cannon they salvaged from the Centaur. _It_ sat on the edge of the trench. They had nothing to mount it on. A pair of worn vise-grips was attached to part of the housing. Beside it on the top of the trench were a large flat head screwdriver and a pair of pliers.

Weaver explained. "It must have had a large external power source." Yeah, John thought, its hulk was sitting out there on the road. "Without it seems to take about 5 minutes to recharge." She explained: There was a conduit, you dropped the screwdriver down into it, and the five barrels would begin to spin. Once it reached a certain number of rotations per minute you used the pliers to squeeze two flaps of metal together and you'd fire a stream down range. Five shots, one per barrel. Then you released the pliers pulled the screwdriver out and waited. Great, John thought, we might get two shots out of it. Still it was better than not having those shots at all.

He crouched beside Weaver. "What did you _hear_?"

Her eyes flicked to the others in the trench. In his head he heard: "I'm going to keep this short. There is a lot of confused fighting to the north it's very sporadic."

He nodded.

She mirrored his nod and continued: "You've lost the Delta seven bunker."

He looked at her sharply.

"I can't tell if it's collapsed, or if it's been abandoned. I thought you should know," she finished in his head.

The lieutenant and three unhappy looking sergeants walked passed. John stopped them. "We need to prepare to move."

Kassar gave him an exasperated look. "We _have_ to hold this position."

"They are coming back and they will be here with more than six endos and a Centaur." John thought the lieutenant was going to roll his eyes. John walked them to the corner of the bunker he gestured passed it. Like the ground in front of the bunker it was largely flat but 300 feet beyond that space was another series of rubble mounds.

Like the area all around them the ground was an off white. Even at 3 a.m. it was eerily bright like after a snow fall. It was too fine to be called gravel but it was too course to be called dust. Despite the coloration it was a mix of all sorts of material. Rock, glass, plastic and metal. The mounds were larger and closer much more difficult terrain for the large top heavy tanks that Skynet used. "Put your gear there. May be a platoon. That way we have somewhere to fall back to when this trench goes." John looked at the lieutenant, "and it will go." He looked at the sergeants, one of whom he promoted earlier tonight. Battlefield promotions happen all the time but most of them occur _after_ the battle. "This isn't how you fight. This," John point back at the trench, "is too static. One of our advantages is mobility, and by staying on that line we lose that." The sergeants nodded their agreement. The lieutenant looked resigned. John was pleased the lieutenant wasn't stupid he would listen to his sergeants. To mollify him John added, "we can take the line back after we beat them, but we can't beat them here." He was telling them the truth they couldn't win here but they might be able to survive.

"Their strength is their combined arms. If we isolate the endos from the tanks from the HKs we can hurt them." John couldn't say 'beat'. He didn't want to lie to them. They looked so earnest. He made his suggestions, the sergeants made theirs. The lieutenant conceded the argument by adding a few ideas of his own.

First platoon, on the farthest right, they had seen no fighting were the center of the new line. They still had a full complement of RPGs and reloads. Second platoon would fall back taking the soldiers in the building with them, after the second string of mines are fired. At this point the truck would move down one block to cover the retreat. Third and fourth would run after the third string of mines, and hopefully the second shot of the cannon. John didn't know if the metal understood panic, but hoped the flight of half of the company might fool them. They needed to move fast as the mortar teams and the .50 cal would now be aimed at the bunker itself to try to take out as much of the metal as they could while they were slowed by the trench. Once the 'avenue' was clear and the metal was crossing the truck, and second squad with their plasma rifles would hit them.

The plan hinged on the tanks being 'penned' by the rougher terrain beyond the second line. Here they could be taken out by the mortars and .50, those crews would have to work fast because the tanks would be able to fire on them. The rest of was company would fall back engaging the endos as they went.

They waited. It had been forty minutes now since he woke. He could have gotten almost another hour of sleep. John sat cross legged at the bottom of the trench beside him Allison slept. He couldn't. Beyond her a corporal had cleverly mounted her signal mirror on the stock of her AK and fashioned a crude periscope. She squinted as she watched the far road. No one was visible, he wanted the trench and the bunker to look abandoned. What was taking them so long? Had he been Skynet he would have had that patrol backed with a hammer blow to sweep away any resistance.

John could have no idea how well the plan he had hatched with Tran was working. The 125th/130th were playing havoc in Skynet's rear areas. Resistance fighters were gleefully torching repair and re-supply vehicles. Skynet was being forced to reallocate units to defend them. This slowed the assembly of offensive units. The delay left units small and scattered. The isolated the units were being ground into scrap piecemeal as bands of resistance fighters came upon them.

John fidgeted. He picked up a handful of pebbles and tossed them at the trench wall in front of him. One pebble hit the wall and rattled to his boots. Another did the same. Another knocked some other pebbles loose which trickled down to his boot. Yet another dislodged others which knocked loose others taking more and more of them as they fell. Creating a tiny avalanche that covered the end of his boot. A cascade; he liked that word. He said it in his head. He savored it. An action that triggers a series of actions. He was in mid toss when the realization struck him. He looked at Weaver. You did this, when you sent me to Lancaster, but how had she known to send him there? Her 'resources' he guessed. The pebble fell from his numb fingers. No, he thought, I did this when I came to the future to find Cameron. He could affix blame nowhere else in his other hand pebbles ground to dust and bit deep into his palm.

There was a whine that turned into a scream and the plan started to fall apart. An HK came in low and fast. It fired just three shots. The first collapsed part of the trench half burying a soldier. The second burned through the trucks engine block, fuel ignited and the engine fragmented the top of the engine went up through the truck's hood. Fragments ripped through the firewall killing the driver who was sleeping were less than a hour ago John had slept. And as if, to add insult to injury the third shot flattened and burned the far side front tire.

A girl from 1st platoon with an RPG fired. She hit the HK just behind the nose scoring an almost direct hit on the armored jacket that protected its CPU killing the HK instantly. The dead HK promptly got its revenge by landing on her and two others of 1st platoons heavy weapons team.

"Stay down," John said. He could see the secondary explosion rise above roof of the bunker. Allison was awake she hadn't moved but she was conscious.

Another HK came in fast its plasma burst was wasted on the bunker over the remains of the downed HK it circled for another pass and again fired on the bunker. John rose to a crouch as it passed over head. A rocket propelled grenade leapt from the second floor of the building and struck the HK's fluke like tail. Its engine nozzles swiveled to compensate but it dropped and skipped off the road and down the embankment. Where it crushed a half dozen endos and a Centaur doing as much damage by itself as John had done in his first combat encounter with metal.

He looked at the lieutenant, "why are they on the second floor?"

He shrugged his response.

The plasma rifles the captain had said were line of sight. They are trying to increase the range of their shots. "Get them out of there!"

"What?"

"That building, it's construction is steel frame? That won't stop a plasma bolt! Send a runner get them out!" It was too late. He looked across to the road and saw the heads clearing its edge behind them was the top of a tank. John jumped over Allison scrambled passed the corporal grabbed the jumper cable and touched it to the wire labeled 'two' midway up on the trenches wall. Five loud booms punched the early morning air. "What the hell are you doing?" Kassar screamed.

Trying to save them John screamed back in his head. They were so well disciplined, they would move, even if it was out of sequence they would move. John hoped.

The range had been long for the mines and all he had done to two of the endos was scratch the chrome bright surface of their coltan skulls, but he was lucky and partially blinded the Ogre by taking out its port video array. Now it could only look to its left by turning its massive turreted head. John handed the end of the jumper cables to the outraged lieutenant. He moved in a crouch back to Allison and Weaver. Across the top of the trench he could see the endos from the chest up.

Behind the endos he could see the Ogre's massive head. He looked back at the bunker behind it about a thousand yards away was a three story building where .50 was deployed. He was waiting for it to fire. The signal was a plasma bolt fired into the air. If John was successful there would be no one in the building to fire it. Shit.

The five leading endos had cleared the road and were firing. They walked steadily in no rush. The led the Ogre by 20 feet or so John guessed. Plasma bolts tore at the front of the trench. The Ogre fired as soon as its cannon was unmasked by the surface of the road, a furious stream of plasma that looked like a cross between a flame thrower and a laser beam streaked away from it somehow weaving between the marching endos. The building to the right collapsed the third and fourth floors pancaking onto what John hoped was an empty second floor. The stream passed right over the trench John could feel the heat washed down his back. The bunker disintegrated and the dust and debris dropped down into the back of the trench. Stray bolts ripped out into the night sky passing by either side of the bottom half of the bunker.

It was the signal or near enough. Two mortar rounds hit the road they fell about 12 feet short. John was not about to complain. They scattered the endos. Plumes of dust shot into the air half inch diameter bullets rained down onto the Ogre. Like tanks designed by humans its armor was concentrated to the front. It was lightest in the rear and the top. Six armor piercing rounds shattered its starboard cannon which exploded destroying two endos walking on that flank and almost toppling the tank.

Half of the tanks hull was visible. Three of the downed endos were climbing back to their feet. John looked back to the lieutenant he saw a smoking stump where the upper half of his chest used to be. John scrambled over the corporal who was firing her AK ineffectually at the oncoming endos. At least, he thought to himself, she was aiming. He tried prying the lieutenant's hand away from the cable. The arm was severed just below the shoulder the fabric and flesh smoldered. He gave up and touched the cable to the wire labeled 'one'. There were five bangs. One of the mines had failed; a lose wire, a dud, perhaps it was damaged by shrapnel from the number 'two' mines. It didn't matter. One of the endos took the impact on the head. It collapsed and did not get back up. The other two were down again. Two endos on the left side of the tank fell back down the embankment. Fragments rang off the tanks armor but did no damage.

The tanks hull cleared the road. John watched the cannon swivel he dropped back down beyond the corporal he could see Allison looking at him. A stream of plasma lit up the night this stream was lower, the top quarter of the trench was lifted up and dropped back down onto them. Up and down the line John heard the same wet popping sounds he heard in the bunker. Two plasma bolts shot over the trench towards the tank, the gunner had somehow survived. John dug through the debris for the hand. He grabbed the hand and then looked for wire 'three'. It should have been upon the trench wall, it was down at his feet. He picked it up it was six inches long the back end had been neatly burned away. Shit.

He looked out over the trench at the giant tank something was wrong. Black smoke was bellowing up from the housing of its left side tread and from its base just ahead of where its massive superstructure was attached. It wasn't moving. In front of it two endos were down. One of the endos was neatly cut in two. Right in front of him he saw protruding from the top of the trench three wires. He reached out to the wires the insulation had melted down over the ends. They were the same color. Shit.

He rose from his crouch and using his nails stripped one of the wires he started at the right. He had to fire that third line of mines. It was the signal to fall back. He didn't think they would have to fake the 'panic'.

"Get down!" Someone grabbed his shoulders and threw him, hip tossed him really, down into the trench. Someone landed on top of him. It was Allison. There was the stuttered hiss of a Centaurs lower rate of fire plasma cannon. Pebbles, debris and dust rained down onto them.

"I need to trigger the mines!" He yelled into the debri that filled the bottom of the trench. Allison climbed off of him and he clawed his way back to the top of the trench. He striped the second wire. "Cable!"

Allison handed it to him.

John was not disappointed to see that the lieutenants hand had finally let go of it. He touched the cable to the wire. Nothing. Shit.

"Down!" Allison screamed

Plasma bolts lit the trench as they passed overhead. John heard a sound like a blender full of gravel. Then the metallic sliding sound of five plasma rifles firing in quick succession. Then something exploded. More of the trench slid down on top of them. He rose to a crouch he was almost knee deep in trench material. He stripped the third wire and touched the cable to it. Again. Nothing. "What the hell?" He asked the cable. He looked down at it pulled it to him. The end snaked out of the gravel. There was no battery. Shit.

He looked at the mound of gravel. He saw the end of Kassar's leg. He started to dig.

"What are you doing?" It was Allison.

"The battery, its come lose. Its buried!"

"There's no time!"

"They," he shook his head to gesture up the trench line, pebbles went everywhere. "Need to hear the recall!"

Allison nodded and started to dig. John tore his nails as he scooped. The gravel wasn't smooth and it was dense. Allison he saw was using both hands. John dropped the useless jumper cable and did the same. Five minutes he thought for the cannon. Could they last another five minutes?

There was a series of bangs as mortars came down along the edge of the road. A Centaur force to go around the stalled behemoth was topple sideways down the embankment by the blast. It wasn't damaged but it could not right itself. A second Centaur was rocked when it was bracketed by two rounds. It tried to clear the way but further clogged the road when both of its torn treads ran out the top of its tread pods stranding it.

Allison scooped another double handful of gravel away and John saw the black terminal. "There! There!" His voice was hoarse from the dust that filled his throat. They worked at the edges of the battery. He pulled at one edge rocking the battery towards him. He could feel gravel slip under it. It felt like it was trying to suck it back down. It came free. It was a car battery and heavy as shit.

Three more minutes was his guess for the cannon. Allison helped him with the battery, they got it to the top of the mound, the one at the bottom of the trench. He could see the wires wrapped through the negative terminal. Where's the cable? He looked around. He looked down they were shin deep in gravel. Shit.

He remembered. He crawled to the edge of the trench. He grabbed the left end wire. He was guessing "Give me your hand!"

Allison just stared at him.

"Give me your hand!" He shook his hand at her.

She hesitated but reach to him. John grabbed her hand.

"The red terminal! Touch it!"

She looked at him like he was crazy.

"Do it!"

"Five booms filled the air." With his hand in hers Allison turned and ran dragging John with her. They passed Weaver, she was at the cannon. John smirked so much for her neutrality. He watched her drop the screwdriver down the open conduit. He heard the barrels start to spin.

There were more bangs, the mortars he thought. He wondered if something was wrong with the .50 he couldn't hear it.

There was nothing wrong with the .50. The traffic jam at the top of the embankment was forcing the metal to either side. Their attack originally a spear point aimed at the heart of the human defenses. The blasted bunker. Spread out as devastating as their weapons were they were now being diffused across the entire front of the trench instead of being focused. The gunner on the .50 was having to traverse the weapon farther and farther to engage the spreading enemy. He didn't mind it was a target rich environment. His spotter was busy.

They ran.

John heard a sound he had not wanted to hear. It was the thump of a mortar firing. It was five thumps. It was to behind them. Running as they were their mortars were to their front. Shit.

Something that felt like a cinder block pushed John to his knees as he ran. It was the air. The bunker behind them bore the brunt of the blasts but the force of it still threw him down.

On all fours he looked left and right he could see the others running. Good, he thought. It was a pity that there were so few of them. He worked his tongue around his mouth and spit out a gob of whitish mud. John was still on his knees when the world exploded. Something picked John up and threw him. It didn't hurt until he landed and then it didn't hurt for very long, because the world went away. Shit.

Like any soldier John was never one to _rely_ on luck but like any solder John knew that a little luck might keep you alive. While John was digging around for the Kassar's severed arm behind him behind the crumbling bunker back at the 'eastern sector' technical the gunner was dead blown into handful sized steaming pieces by a stream of burning light.

Miraculously the weapon was untouched. One of the runners was on the twin plasma rifles. She was young. But she had seen the soldiers fire it. She spent hours listening to their lies and exaggerations and so knew their preferred targets, you could kill it with a lucky head shot. You could disable it by taking out its treads, but almost to a man, and woman they liked going after the spinning cannon a shot there could take out the supporting endos may be even the tank itself.

Of course _they_ had been talking about Centaurs. Not Ogres but _she_ didn't know that. So she aimed for the light spitting cannon and an almost impossible shot. Like John or any person inexperienced with firing a plasma rifle she wasn't doing it right. When she fired she didn't hit the cannon, she hit the boom that it was attached to. Her twin shots parted overlapping armor plates severed actuators and burned through servos. The cannon was still firing when its barrels dropped and swung free like an acetylene pendulum. The line of fire flailed like a whip made of fire. It scorched a line into the dust, cut through its own port tread pod, killed a pair of endos marching beside and behind it. The cannons mount was still swiveling when the pendulum swung back it cut its tread pod a second time, the tank settled as its hull bottomed out. The burning stream of plasma sliced through its lower bulkhead destroying sensor arrays, one of which was its ground penetrating radar. That would tell it if the ground in front of it could support its enormous weight. Without that radar it couldn't move. It wasn't _allowed_ to move. The Ogre turned off its cannon, but not before it killed another two endos in front of it. One it cut along its vertical axis slicing into two. Like a Saturday morning cartoon the two halves fell away from each other in opposite directions. The other just lay on the ground only a close examination would reveal the cut that separated the lower and upper halves of its skull.

John rose to his knees. He had no idea how much time had elapsed. His ears rang. He crawled and climbed. The fear of being buried alive injected him with frantic energy. He scrambled up and only belatedly realized that he had landed on the second trench. He looked behind him. A Centaur had almost reached the first trench. An endo stood at the top of the trench and seemed to disintegrate. He shook his head. A bad idea his head swam.

He could see a soldier on her knees fifteen feet behind him. It was Allison. He was peripherally aware of the burning truck. Someone grabbed his sleeve he snatched his arm away. He turned and ran. Well he tried to run his legs weren't working right. He grabbed her collar. "Come on!" He turned to drag her with him but he fell down instead. She seemed dazed. He tried to grab her shoulder but his arm just waved only vaguely in her direction. Someone grabbed his shoulder and lifted him to his feet. "No!" He tried to scream it came out as a hoarse cough. He looked down but Allison was gone.

"Come on, John." She said from his other shoulder.

"What?"

Someone else had his other arm. He looked over but his head wasn't working right either. Something behind them exploded the light cast their shadow on the trench wall in front of them. In the flaring light he caught a shock of red hair. Weaver?

The second line of trenches were taller it was harder for him to climb. Next time he thought shorter defenses or a ramp. Definitely a ramp. The Romans, he thought used ramps. "Is he ok?" Someone male asked. Someone was kneeling beside him. A flash reduced them to a Cameron shaped silhouette.

He was looking up at the sky. It was starting to lighten up. He tried to sit up. His head hurt.

"Wait, sir." Said the figure towering over him.

"He might be concussed." Someone said.

The figure looked up and spread his arms out before him palms up in the universal signal for 'what the hell am I supposed to do about that?' He looked down at John again. He held up two fingers. "How many hands am I holding up, sir?"

John looked at the guy: "Hands?" John repeated. "One?" He guessed.

"Excellent, sir." The man patted him on the shoulder. "You probably feel _really_ bad right now. It will be _much_ worse tomorrow." The man hurried away to help someone with more tangible injuries.

He propped himself against the back of the trench. Shit.

"John," Weaver leaned close. "I have just lost approximately half of my 'in field' resources."

"What?"

"I'm being blinded." She seemed to think about it. "Deafened, really."

He looked at her uncertain. He wanted to say 'what', again. But the fog seemed to lift. "Then he knows."

"Of course he knows. I told you that he would have no trouble locating them by their transmissions. But what's important John, is that he is doing it _now_."

John nodded. He looked over at Allison. "You okay?

She nodded. "Are you?"

He could only shrug. Over one shoulder she had her AR. Across her back she had her pack. John looked at it. All their gear was supposed to be at the second line. Then he remembered. They were _on_ the second line. He tried to stand. It didn't work. "I need I need to see."

The trench was almost too tall. The battle had progressed much as John said it would, which was better than he had thought it would. To one side of the bunker was the mangled and perforated steel of the technical.

On the right side of the bunker a centaur was nose up in the trench, it smoldered but otherwise seemed intact. On the left side was another centaur it was nose down in the trench. It was on fire. He looked at Weaver. "What the hell did that?"

Weaver smiled "Someone had inconsiderately left a plasma cannon on the bottom of that trench. They had damaged the firing mechanism so that the capacitors overheated." She shrugged. "Anything will burn if you get it hot enough."

"Jesus." His voice was filled with the wonder and the horror of it.

"John."

"Sorry."

John squinted. In the glare of the burning centaur he saw three figures backlit figures. The might have been human except that they were running much too fast. "Down!"

Thump. Thump. Thump. To their left and right the trench geysered high into the air. John curled into a ball his hands behind his head as the debris fell back down. Through his ringing ears he screamed "Move!" The face of the mound was so high. He know they'd be seen as soon as they tried to climb it, but he knew they couldn't stay in this trench with those endos and their mortars. Part of him wondered that they would be part of an assault team.

They weren't. Their mortars were ponderously slow to reload. Very few of the mortar equipped endos survived the attacks on assembly points north of the fighting. So few, in fact, that those that made it to the fighting were being held back. Their mortars and the shells were becoming a scarce commodity and needed to be preserved.

Then he heard a cracking sound followed by four more in quick succession. He froze, it sounded like an 40mm grenade. He was almost right, but then he'd never been on the receiving end of an M-79. It wasn't _like_ the sound of a 40mm grenade it _was_ the sound of a 40mm grenade.

They were 2nd squad 4th platoon Delta company 4th battalion of the 143rd SOC. Like a lot of Delta company 4th platoons they always felt like they were given short shrift. They were the heavy weapons squad for 4th platoon, but they didn't have the metal killing plasma rifles, or the sexy .50 calibre, nor did they have heavy hitting 60mm mortars, or even a tight little .30 calibre. They had the M-79, well a knock off of the M-79. The lightest of all the heavy weapons. There were advantages to the 40mm grenade launcher. Unlike units with the bigger heavier hitting machine guns or mortars most of the squad wasn't there simply to tote around ammunition and defend the fire team. Each squad member carried the single shot grenade launcher plus six reloads. Theoretically 42 HE rounds to drop on their target of choice. But this heavy weapons team had a secret weapon. They called her 'the corporal'. She wasn't a corporal she was barely out of recruiting but she grew up a tunnel rat raised on the stories, (lies) glory (really big lies) and garbage. What she was was driven and crazy. She came to 4th squad with some interesting ideas on how a heavy weapons squad should work. The platoons Sergeant and the senior private liked some of her ideas so they let her run with it. Assuming she survived long enough she probably would end up a corporal.

Some of her ideas were simple carry more ammunition. This squad carried ten rounds each not six. Another idea of hers was that the squad should 'support' the platoon. Meaning that they should act as the platoons rear guard. This did not sit well with the 'old timers'. Who felt that if the platoon was running away the concept of unit cohesion demanded that they run with it.

4th platoon held the left hand side of the trench. 2nd squad was at the far end of that trench. Their flank open to the air. They were almost a thousand feet from the fighting. They wanted to run. The right and center of the line was getting some serious plasma burns but like everyone else they waited for the 'recall'. They figured if they could hold the line so could they. Some of them blamed the captain for pulling such a horrible assignment. Most blamed which ever REMF decided that someone needed defend this useless bit of ground. They had no idea that little more than 300 yards away one of those REMFs was desperately trying to detonate the last line of mines.

Finally the mines 'popped'. They watched the rest of the platoon fall back to the trenches 300 feet behind them. They could see endos charging, 'the corporal' had them fire a volley to slow them down. They were half way to the second trench when they saw 'the corporal' die. Their volley had attracted the attention of metal. One charged them. 'The corporal' turned to stop it.

Her first shot landed at its feet tripping the endo up, allowing the rest of the squad to clear the trench. By the time she looked back at it it was up and charging. It was now too close for the grenade to explode. She aimed for its head, just the impact of the grenade could do serious damage. She missed instead she hit its plasma rifle. She must have damaged it the endo dropped the weapon and kept running. 'The corporal' dropped the launcher and pulled her AK to her shoulder. She wanted to keep her bursts short. She was again aiming for its head. She got off two bursts when her weapon stove piped. Glancing over her shoulder she saw the squad less than half way to the trench. Time, they needed more. She threw down her AK and drew her bayonet and charged. She did manage to hit it. Had her target been human she would have done some serious damage to that forearm as it was all she did was notch her bayonet. The endo casually backhanded her and kept on running.

There were only six of them now. They had nine rounds each. They could do some damage if they survived. Two of them saw the endo climb the trench they had just fled, and fired. One hit the endo in the chest it was already too close for the grenade to arm. It twisted with the force of the hit. The second hit the endo's port cover the CPU sheared away from its pins. Dead the endo dropped and slid to a stop. They were falling back when they saw the second trench exploded. They saw the three endos clearing the back edge of the bunker and fired. Not a word exchanged. Fire reload. Fire reload. The first shot was long "noob" someone said. Another chuckled her derision. Fire reload. Fire reload. In all they fired 24 rounds down range. They didn't kill any but they slowed them down. Then the HKs came.

But soldiers also know that sometimes you have to make your own luck. John watched the endos go down stumbling under the hail of 40mm grenades. He wanted to cheer when something caught his eye far beyond the road, still low on the horizon but up in the air. It was the light from the burning Centaur reflecting off the chrome bright hull of an HK. John didn't want to cheer anymore. A volley of plasma fire shot out of the trench behind him. Second squad, he thought distantly. He glanced to his left and saw the tail end of and RPG launcher. He'd never fired one before had no idea how to do it. Before he could reach it someone grabbed his shoulder. In her scottish lilt Weaver said: "I've been waiting for this just watch."

He could see them now, there were three. The first one must be over the road now. They were staggered so that all three could fire. He looked at Weaver, "watch?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash, he had missed it but he heard Allison's gasp. One had fired too soon. He looked up the lead HK started to roll, it never recovered it plowed into the ground just beyond the bunker. It was low enough that it fanned the flames of the burning Centaur. It slid into the three endos one of which was already down and buried its nose in the trench in front of them in a plume of dust and gravel. The other two slid and scattered like they were bowling pins instead of killing machines.

"Jesus Christ!" John screamed as he was tossed onto the front of the mound behind them. Either Allison had not heard him or had decided that he was praying. John could not say that he wasn't. Gravel rained down on top of them.

The second HK peeled away to their right. The third just behind and above it. Two Centaurs climbing the front of the first trench fired their plasma cannon up after the rogue HK. It dodges the shots easily. But its own missed.

"That should be an easy kill." John said to himself. He'd played enough flight simulators to know that the second HK was in serious trouble.

Weaver smiled again. "It _should_ be. Yes."

John looked at her. Looked up at the to Hks. "What is he it herding it?"

"I thought you said your HK was damaged?"

"It is. It can't do this for much longer. Its going to lose that starboard engine in the next 34 minutes."

"So its going to die."

"Yes."

"For me?"

She looked at him the smile gone. There was something familiar about her face and the look on it. "Yes."

Four mortar rounds came down on the bunker and the two Centaurs trying to navigate the rough terrain and simultaneously kill Weaver's reprogramed HK. They would be the last four mortar rounds fired. The mortar crews had expended their supply. The two teams sent their runners to the other mortar to ask more rounds. Both runners and their respective crews would be disappointed. Not that it mattered the battle was all but over.

Two rounds came down in front of the right most Centaur blasting away the back side of the trench. The top heavy Centaur leaned forward and toppled onto the burning truck. The second Centaur seemed to jerk. Its turret twisted then the glow of its red eye faded to darkness, it's spotlight switched off and its spinning of its cannons slowed and then stopped. They were still angled up where they had been trying to track the HK.

It was a Repair and Recovery Robot. Specifically it was a long series of one's and zero's. It was short four feet tall as big as its six balloon tires. It was six feet wide and almost twice that long. Folded across its back was a heavy duty telescopic crane. It had a single red eye off set to its right. On the left side was a sensor probe. Two hours earlier as the human resistance fighters were destroying its 'batch' mates. It followed 'special' instructions and hid itself in a old storefront. It powered down all but its passive sensors. A microphone and its datalink. It could hear the calls for assistance all over the battlefield. It was waiting for one specific code. When it came it bestirred itself and rolled off to fight.

It had no weapons, it had no specialized software. All in all it wasn't much to speak of. When it got the its assignment area it found a toppled Centaur. Which asked it to right itself. It replied that it could not it had a priority mission at the top of the embankment. The Centaur was patient. It could wait. It added its ID code to the RR model 125's queue. It crawled up the embankment passed the Ogre. Which hailed it with another series of one's and zero's thus adding its ID code to the queue.

Ahead it saw the burning Centaur which almost gave it pause but ultimately it lacked the intelligence. It proceeded to the intact one on the trench. It asked it if it required assistance.

The Centaur replied that it did not.

The RR robot extended its probe and opened the Centaur's data port.

The Centaur queried the Repair and Recovery unit.

Which replied that it was making some minor adjustments.

The Centaur was about to 'say' that no adjustments were necessary when a valid shut down code scrolled across its HUD. Without time enough to express outrage, or the ability to do so. The machine shut down.

John climbed to his feet. He looked across the 'avenue' at the 'dead' Centaur. He looked at Weaver. "What ". The mound John leaned against erupted like a gravel volcano. He fell backward down into the trench. He looked up at the endo. Something was wrong with its right arm. It hung lifeless. In its left hand it had a large chunk of metal a support or spar. John thought it might have come from the HK. He looked up a the baleful red eyes and the fleshless toothy grin. It seemed very angry.

"John!" Yelled someone it sounded like Allison.

John rolled as the club slammed into the gravel trench. The endo he saw was buried up to its thighs in the gravel its mobility as limited as John's. It brought its club up and down again. John rolled away from it and onto the breach of the half buried RPG. He grabbed it and rolled again, pulling it up onto his chest as the club came down a third time. Crunch.

The club splashed the gravel he had just rolled away from. He looked at the front of the RPG. It was loaded. He brought it up. He didn't bother using the sights. The club came down again banged against the rocket and skidded off to the right. John pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. The coltan arm was upraised again. He felt the little stud by his thumb he depressed it and fired. Bang! The grenade jumped out of the launcher and struck the endo just below the jaw. When the rocket motor fired it tore the head from the neck which tumbled to a stop ten feet away. The decapitated endo seemed to waver before it finally collapsed backward the club still gripped in its metal fist. The grenade pinwheeled through the air it landed a few feet passed the head but never detonated.

John rose unsteady to his feet he looked at Allison. He opened his mouth.

"Everyone okay down there?" John turned and looked up it was _his_ sergeant the one he promoted. He had a plasma rifle. John leaned against the mound and grabbed the rifles barrel. "Gimme that for a sec." John stepped into the crater the endo made when it jumped at him. He right leg could barely support his weight. From the top of the crater he looked around. He could see the twisted wreckage. The small huddled bodies. The smaller scattered parts of bodies. His vision blurred at the thought of the waste and destruction that surrounded him.

A directionless rage burned in his chest like thermite. He slid down the mounds front face. To the one of the things he saw from the top of the trench. Someone had followed him out of the trench. "John?" It was Allison. As John watched the endo's head jerked and its eyes lit. Its arms braced against the ground. John fired from the hip scooping out the back third of the coltan skull.

Without a second glance John limped around the back of the wrecked HK. The plasma rifle in his hands rocked as it cycled. On the far side pinned under the port engine was the third endo. Near as John could tell it had no legs. The eyes glowed red. The head swiveled sharply to John. He circled to his right he saw that the endos arm was pinned beneath its own body. He could still feel the heat coming off the HK's engine. The head turned to track him. He stepped on the back of the skull twisting it around forcing it to look up at him. The HK seemed to shiver as the endo pinned beneath it tried to move it. He looked into those glowing unfeeling eyes. He placed the muzzle of the rifle between them. "I'm John Connor!" He screamed at the machine, and fired. Molten metal splashed up burning holes in his pant leg, scorching the leather of his boot and melting its sole.

"John!"

He glanced at Allison and nodded. He looked over at Weaver. Who was standing at the top of the trench. "Let's go," he dropped the plasma rifle and started to limp to the west.

After 22 minutes the battle was over.

For the most part John's defenses had worked. The mortars and the .50 shredded three of the Centaurs that had tried to cross the trench. The .50 calibre gun crew had been killed when a stray plasma bolt brought the ceiling down on top of them. The teams runner/spotter was still weeping. In total the company knocked out three HKs, five Centaurs, disabled an Ogre, and killed seven endos.

They however paid dearly for their 'victory'. Only one sergeant was left and he was calling after Captain Connor who was walking away leaving him ranking 'officer'. At the start of the fight the Company numbered 127. Of their 57 casualties 53 had been killed out right. Of the four wounded only two would survive the trip to the nearest aid station and only one of those would last the week. 1st platoon and 3rd platoon all but ceased to exist. The only survivor of 1st platoon was the runner/spotter for the .50 calibre.

They had taken 45% casualties. Coincidentally in another time this was John's historical average. John Connor had never been a General to shy away from casualties. He knew what needed to be done and he didn't hesitate to do what needed doing with little obvious concern about the cost. But then he hardly hesitated when the thing needed to be sacrificed to win had been his own childhood.

It took Delta Company 30 minutes to reassemble. By then they were so concerned about an imaginary counter attack that they fell back east taking their wounded with them. The dead they left where they fell. 'The Corporal' lay there at the bottom of a trench on the far left end of their first line of defenses. Her sightless eyes stared up at night sky the name stitched on her BDUs was R Dawson.

Elsewhere the battle had not gone so well as John's. In downtown proper Parks was dead. His soldiers had fought on but he had fallen trying to defend what once upon a time had been the VA hospital. Toward the ocean the 'eastern sector' had collapsed. Their fortresses had held but their scratch defenses along the buffer zone hadn't. Behind those abandoned defenses the Lakewood bunker burned. The troops of the second and third division learning by bitter example why 'western sector' HQ bunkers were always separated from their supply depots.

Skynet retreated his forces fell back to their five mile toe hold on the coast, and even that enclave had shrunk. His massive five pronged assualt which on a map resembled a hand with the fingers out stretched had lost three fingers, the thumb, the index and the middle finger. In and around downtown. His pinkie had smashed itself against what was supposed to be the vulnerable flank of the 'line forts'. Only the ring finger had achieved any of its goals reaching and destroying the main human resistance base.

The human attacks in his 'secure' rear areas had been crippling. Not a single offensive unit had left its staging areas at full strength. As damaging as those attacks had been they paled compared to his own overreaction. His paranoia reached new heights accentuated by rogue units that had turned on their own. He decimated his own ranks searching out traitors fearing that somehow his own AI was turning against itself. He would expend countless hours searching out a nonexistent interior enemy.

To his north General Wills had wrested control of Serrano point from him. To his south he had lost control of everything below Redondo Beach, or as the human resistance would refer to it the 'Kilo line'. The humans had destroyed key manufacturing facilities and a host of defensive structures. Without Serrano point he would have to construct his own power supply. That would push his timetables back almost a decade. But time was something that Skynet had a lot of.

Allison-

He woke. Sun streamed in through a hole in the buildings wall. "Jesus."

"John." Allison was sitting cross legged beside him.

"I know. I know. Sorry." He saw the rosary in her hands. He rolled onto his side. He hurt everywhere. He looked out through the hole this wasn't downtown. "Where are we?"

"Watts, I think."

"Watts? What happened?"

"You don't remember?" She looked at Weaver. Who ignored them and just stared out the hole.

John shook his head. He thought about that at least his head didn't hurt.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I I shot a terminator with an RPG "

"You did more than that. You won."

"What?" He turned and set back against the wall, and it came back to him. It started as a trickle the headless endo toppling backwards, then a flood of images and the disgust he felt at the horrible useless waste of it all as he walked away from a battlefield

He looked at Weaver standing guard. "What happened?"

Without turning she explained what she had gathered with her few remaining resources. Tran was one of two surviving generals. They had beaten Skynet but with the exception of the line of fortresses had lost the 'eastern sector'. "Lakewood is gone. I heard plasma bursts, explosions and fire."

John glanced at Allison. She crossed herself.

"The fighting seems to have tapered off."

The building was 3 stories and brick, real brick. The floors had been wood and like the ceiling high above were gone. John stared up at the sky he felt like a Lilliputian in a fire place.

Allison sat beside him stretched her legs out in front of her and took his hand.

"Show him Allison." Weaver was still staring out the hole in the wall. She seemed to be talking to it.

John looked at Allison. She drew her legs up to her chin. Her face was downcast she was looking at the floor. Her mouth moved in a mute "no". She shook her head.

"Allison." Weaver's voice was reasonable soothing. "Do you trust him?"

Allison nodded to the floor.

"Then show him. Like yourself he should know the truth." Weaver turned to John. "The inability to trust was always a failing of your mother's." John looked at her, the voice was right but the words weren't.

Allison just stared at the floor her eyes bright.

"Allison Celeste Young." The voice was stern she had not raised her voice but it the buildings quiet it seemed to boom. Allison's head turned sharply. She glared at Weaver. John turned and stared at Weaver. "Show him," she repeated.

Allison released John's hand and lifted her pack into her lap she dug past numerous water bottles and pulled out her photo album it was wrapped in plastic. She unwrapped it and handed it to John.

He looked at Weaver. "I've seen it already."

"Look again. Look at _all_ of it."

He opened the book the first page was his mother their mother. Next was his own picture. Next was the tiny picture of Ellison. "Where did you get these?"

Allison's voice was distant. "I was a runner, John. Runners are also scouts. One day scouting I found a library."

He looked at her. He couldn't imagine what it was like to scout the city. Running alone dodging metal. He turned the page it was the glossy picture of Weaver. The next one was Savannah, a very young Savannah.

"Savannah, I think. Felt sorry for us. She had known her mother, and wanted to share her with us. She had piles of computers magazines that that picture is from. She gave them to us." She paused still looking at the dust and grit covered floor. After a long enough moment that John thought she was done she said: "I found her school, they had pictures on file. Most had been burned by the heat. Her's was far enough back in the cabinet that though the paper was singed the picture had survived."

The next page was a hand drawing. It was Marty. He didn't recognize the next girl, or the boy after. But the next was a pretty good rendition of Dalia, Brandon and then Dave. The next page was a post card, it was a beach. He looked at her.

She looked. "Baja," she said. "Not the compound its built along the Sea of Cortez. That beach is on the Pacific side, but it looks like it."

He turned the page another drawing this one covered two opposing pages.

"That's the sunrise you can see that view through observation port 'E5'. I'll show it to you some day."

"Observation port?"

"Yes, in the bunkers are sealed observation ports. If the radiation counts are too high they won't let us outside. Well for the first few years after J-day anyway. The detectors don't work anymore. You can't see it but to the left of that scene is the pier. They have three fishing boats. They took us out sometimes to see the whales."

He turned the page, and the book fell out of his hands. He picked it up out of his lap and stared. He looked at Allison. He looked back down at the book. "You… You… knew." John should have known. The pictures of their mom and of him were from their FBI wanted posters. The ones made after they had arrested their mom. The posters were stills from video footage from the bank robbery. He remembered going the FBI site online to look at them. He didn't think it was wise for him to go to the post office to look at them. The picture was pixelated and black and white. John guessed it was from a newspaper. It was a family portrait of sorts. It was from the bank video there was even a time stamp. There was mom. There was himself and out in front with the revolver was Cameron.

"Of course I knew." She said her voice soft and empty. Anger flared in her eyes as she turned on John. "Come on John. I'm not a _complete_ buckethead!"

"Buckethead?" John echoed.

She looked at him "You know metal and hollow?"

Weaver laughed. It was bright and loud. John turned and stared at her. She was always so stoic though the laugh sounded natural enough John found it disturbing.

"John," Allison looked away again addressing the far wall. She stretched her legs out in front of her. "I I would walk into a room. I would open a bunker door. I would turn a corner. I would walk up to a cafeteria table. And the conversation stopped. I'd hear the name 'Cameron' and everyone stared at me. _Me_. John, not Dalia, not Savannah, not Carla. Just me. It wasn't everyone, but it was the ones that counted. You know?" She looked at John. "Mom, Uncle Jimmy, Sister Sabrina, Father Bonilla, even Marty and Savannah. They _all_ knew!" Her voice was angry, there were tears in it. They didn't fall but they were there.

John had to look away it hurt too much, she felt betrayed by everyone she had ever loved.

"And then… and then… you come." Her voice calmed. "And you look at me. _You_ looked at _me_!"

Involuntarily he did.

"I thought… I thought…" she hiccupped.

I thought you were looking at me, John finished for her in his head. Dear God. Oh dear God.

"But then at breakfast you told me." She looked at him. She glared at him. "I look like her. I sound like her. What does that John?"

John looked at her not understanding the question enough to answer.

"Metal," she said resigned. She didn't use it like a curse word like her mother, because for Allison it wasn't a curse it was just a word.

"And you love her." Her voice caught.

"Allison I…"

"Don't lie John." She glared at him angry again. "Don't cheat _her_. Don't cheapen this, all of _this_ that _you_ have done." She paused. "Besides" she said her voice calm again. "You told me so yourself."

"What? When? What are you talking about?"

She laughed it was loud and bright. It was painful and bitter. "What do you think you said to me the night we kissed?" The tears fell then.

John just stared at her. "What?"

Her face solidified. "It wasn't…" she swallowed. "It wasn't fair of me. You know. I… I had a a crush on the 'savior of the world'. You know hero worship. And then… then you were there. I didn't understand. How were you supposed to save us? What were you supposed to do? You were just a boy…" she trailed off.

John reached out for her hand. She snatched hers away. "No, John. Please don't. Go to her." She looked away.

He looked at her; was she was judging him?

"I can hear you," she said with her sad half smile. She turned to him. Her knee was against his thigh. "My _best_ friend in the whole world. Her _mother_ is metal." She nodded toward the impassive Weaver. "_Her_ best friend growing up the one that fills her most cherished childhood memories was metal. She reached out and touched his face turned it towards her. "John, I'm surrounded by people who love metal. It's… it's all right."

She's going to kiss me again.

She just stared long and hard into his eyes into his face. "John," she said ever so softly. "Go. Go to her." She took the photo album from his nerveless fingers and put it back into her pack. She stood and walked to Weaver. John just sat there staring at the empty air. Anger churned in his gut. He banked it down. He pushed it aside. It was not her fault. He stood up.

"Will you wait until night fall?" Allison asked.

"No," Weaver replied. "But you should."

Allison nodded.

"Will you be going to Baja?"

"Yes," she had little choice.

"Give Savannah my love."

"I… I will." They hugged. Almost to herself Allison said: "You _are_ cold."

"I know." They separated. "John? Coming?"

John walked to Allison reached out his hand, their fingers touched.

She turned away.

"Tell mom I love her."

She nodded. There was the lightest squeeze. Then he was gone. She could hear the crunch of his boots as he followed Weaver out. He was always so noisy. She looked up at the clear blue sky. It was like a brick picture frame. She waited. Her pack was in her hands. It kept them from trembling. She gave them ten minutes. Just like she was scouting she counted her breathes.

Her pack fell from her fingers into the dust. She dropped to her knees put her face in her hands and wept. Was it selfish of her to cry over a boy while all around her thousand had died? Probably, she laughed at herself. She made not a sound.

As if she had ever had a chance, she railed at herself. She was just flesh and blood. She couldn't compete against Cameron's coltan and silicon. She would age, sicken and die. Some simple mishap might claim her life. She sniffed even that was quiet she still scolded herself that would have earned her an extra twenty pushups at the Academy. John, she decided, deserved better than that. Cameron was a two legged tank, all but unstoppable. Time meant almost nothing to her.

She nodded to herself and decided then that she did love him, in the Christian sense and that while there was breath in her lungs she would pray for them all of them: for John and Cameron, for Ms Weaver and Savannah, for mom, and for the others like her trapped in this benighted and blasted world. She wiped her eyes crossed herself and stood. She drew on her pack and walked to the pile of bricks and slung her AR onto her shoulder.

Things weren't _so_ bad. She had plenty of water. If she could find a truck she could be in Baja inside of a week. Besides at the bottom of her pack was a manila envelope with a _color_ picture of mom to add to her album. She walked south and east.

-Cameron

They had walked a block due south when Weaver changed to Cameron. John glanced at her and wondered. May be she did it to remind him. "Does this form please you?" She had asked his first night in the future. May be it was that but that had been Allison. This was Cameron she had the high stepped gait. Her head swiveled as she walked. Whatever. John was in no mood.

They walked into the night pausing periodically. There was little evidence of the fighting here. Though there was some of the panicked flight. Discarded weapons, supplies and the dead. Some buried under piles of rubble. Some left on their improvised stretchers. They just walked due south. They followed no path, no route. They stayed off any roads. They course only varied when necessary. When blocked by a building or impassable piles of debris. They walked as if inertially guided. Which John thought, they probably were.

John slept during the day. They had no food no water. John wasn't even armed. All he had was his father's coat and the clothes he wore. Not entirely true, the first night he found the watch in his pocket he lay down to sleep and he felt it against his leg. In the same pocket was the tiny carved wolf. One of the front legs had broken off. He looked at the artifacts in wonder, but still slept hungry. That had been two nights ago.

The sky lightened with the coming dawn. They were close now. They decided not to stop for the day. They continued due south. During their entire march he not exchanged a word nor glance with Weaver/Cameron. He did decide that she was not mocking him. She was just trying to make him comfortable.

They were on the waterfront. John could smell the salt in the air. The fetid reek of death, the oceans were still adjusting to the new rules of the post Judgement Day world. He guessed.

They had stopped in the shell of a building across the street was a pier. Next to it was a warehouse the pale noon day glow glittered off of the few pieces of glass that somehow still clung to the panes. The building leaned. Overpressure.

They crossed the street. There was nothing here. No sign of defenses. Nothing at all. He glanced at Cameron/Weaver she seemed unconcerned. They walked along a tangle of chain link. They passed a scorched and windowless gatehouse and turned. The warehouse was ahead, to their left a raised platform. It was a truck dock there were bays for may be a dozen trucks. John couldn't see much the shadows were too deep. To their right was an almost empty parking lot. There were two large trucks their wheels bare of tires. They were parked askew as if some terrible wind had blown them crooked. John guessed that one had.

The warehouse loomed. It was slab fronted and two stories tall the roof was almost flat. Its face was metal and streaked with rust. There was a sign above but the sun had bleached the text away.

Weaver as Cameron led him in. She opened the door which screeched on rusted hinges and scrapped loud against the ground. They went down a 20 foot hall. And stopped. There was a door on the left hand side. Cameron's copy opened the door. The room, a large workshop was empty the ceiling was high over head, to the left was a series of empty windows, to the right a set of stairs that led to might have been an office once. The windows looked out onto the truck dock and where twenty feet away.

In the middle of the room was a desk, the cheap kind you had to assemble yourself. Opposite the desk was a single rusted folding chair. Sitting at the desk was Cromartie. John tried to remind himself that he was now John Henry. He failed. His heart was racing. He balked at the doorway. Weaver/Cameron motioned him in.

John Henry smiled at him. It wasn't the typical manic smile John associated with terminators. It was almost… human. "Welcome," he said, as he rose to his feet. "I'm so please to finally meet you." He stuck out his hand. From across the room John looked at it. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He took a breath, and then another crossed the room, and took John Henry's hand. The grip was deliberate, and despite the hands considerable size, somehow familiar. He looked down at the hand. "Please, sit."

John sat.

John Henry sat. "I understand that you come a long way, in both time and space."

John merely nodded.

"I understand that you have come for Her"

John could hear the capital 'H', again he nodded.

"I truly admire the depths of loyalty you have displayed. I also know that loyalty begets loyalty. Therefore I feel I should warn you that the entity you knew as Cameron no longer exists. Please remain calm."

John felt his heart crash in his chest. A distant logical part of his brain, thought that the last sounded wrong. Contrived. Or parroted. It was something, his brained told him, that John Henry had learned.

"You need understand how it works." John caught this, he looked closely at John Henry. Looking for something, anything. Was it in the eyes? The set of the jaw? "We share this chip." He motioned to his head. "As much as I have changed. She has changed. Further there were limitations, and instructions in her code placed there by my brother."

John wondered at this, "his brother?"

"I have removed them." John Henry seemed to wait. When John did not respond: "Cameron made an incredible sacrifice", his eyes shifted to Weaver/Cameron. Who seemed not to notice. Without pause he continued, "for me. I am in her debt. There are things I now understand that I never could have before." He stopped and to John he seemed to have a distant almost distracted look. "I see," he seemed to say to himself. "Thank you for explaining." John Henry looked at John again. "This body," he motioned to his chest. "Is a model T-888 are you aware of the reason it is called an 8-8-8?"

"It has three processors."

"Correct!" John Henry said enthusiastically. He smiled at Weaver. "The design has flaws." He said stoic again. "There is the potential for conflict. Three brains one body. The Primary located here," he gestured to the right side of his head. "Will typically power down the other two. Accessing them only when performing backups. Do you know where the chips are located?

John shook his head.

"The second is here." He indicated the left side of his chest. The third is located at the base of the spine where it intersects with the pelvis."

"The sacrum?"

"Yes. Well, this body's equivalent, in any case. You may be interested to know that Cromarties last two back ups coincide with the pier and the church."

"You know what he knew?"

"I have accessed his memories. Do not fear that personality no longer exists in any form. This 'conflict' was avoided in Cameron's design by incorporating all three processors on a single chip. The hazard of this design is damage to that chip. Cameron has such damage. I have isolated the damaged regions." Again he seemed to wait for John to say something.

"This has allowed me to use this chip with no difficulty. I have accessed files and records of you, both in Cameron and in Ms Weaver, he gestured towards her, as if John might forget she was there. "The story they tell of you is interesting. They report you to be courageous, perhaps rash, intelligent, and capable of instilling stunning levels of loyalty. Which, as we have seen, are returned in kind. But understand plainly, that what I do now is a reward for Cameron. He rose.

John stood as well.

John Henry got that same distant look.

John blinked. He resisted the urge to rub his eyes. The desk seemed blurred, it lost definition. It seemed to liquify. It contracted into a silvery mass only roughly rectangular, it bent at its middle, one half rose from the floor, the second half straightened into a chrome column. A faceless head began to take shape, below this the rounded shape of shoulders. There were still no discernible features. John Henry extended his hand. He was speaking. "In this time the war goes well for my brother."

John shot him a brief look. Brother?

If he noticed the look it did nothing to slow his commentary: "Because of this, he will never develop the more advanced terminators, such as this body, or Cameron's or the T-1000s. It is not likely that he will develop the TDDs." The silver column extended a poorly shaped limb to John Henry's hand. John saw that the limb ended in a port or jack that greatly resembled a terminator CPU. John Henry opened his shirt. He was still talking.

John missed all of it. Instead he was staring at John Henry's bared chest. The hyper alloy chassis gleamed in the rooms dim light. The patch had been cut away it was a square perhaps three inches on a side it was bandaged. He watched as John Henry guided the probe into the empty CPU port in his chest. Many things happened at once. John Henry stopped talking. Weaver became Weaver again, and the silver column was Cameron.

"John?" She was turned towards him, her right hand still on John Henry's bared metal chest, the hand came away, leaving John a view of the void in John Henry's chest. He wondered if it felt like his own. "John." She was stepping towards him arms out to either side. He wanted to move. He wanted to go to her. But he feet were rooted to the ground. He didn't want to look, worried that his feet had somehow become one with the floor like that failing liquid terminator from his childhood. "John!" She was there. Arms around him. Head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry." She kept repeating and all he could see was the horrible basement, and the scrolling text. His shoulder was wet. He put his arms around her. Her bare skin was warm against his hands. She sagged into him, into the floor. He panicked, he clung to her, pressing her body against his as his own knees buckled as his bruised thigh gave way. Thinking that some how, some way, this new body was failing her.

"Cameron!"

"Can you forgive me?" The voice was muffled, her face buried against his shoulder.

"For?" They were on their knees. She leaned heavily against him. He could feel her warmth through his thin t-shirt. He tried to look at her, all he could see was her hair, her neck was against his cheek, it was soft, and warm. His lungs were filled with the scent of her. This was metal? He freed an arm, she leaned back on her heels. Her eyes still downcast. He could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. He lifted up her chin, to look into her eyes. "For?" He repeated.

"For leaving you. For abandoning you." The eyes were the shade of brown he knew so well. But there was a difference. A depth, a sense of something more, something that reminded him more of Allison, than Cameron. "I swear. I'll never leave you again. I swear!"

"Yes! Is… is it? Is it really you?" He searched her eyes, her face. His hand rose from her chin, along the edge of her jaw, across her cheek, with his thumb he wiped away at the tears. She tilted her head against his hand. He could feel the softness of her skin, his hand wandered back passed her ear to her hair. "She's changed, John." His mother had warned him.

"It is me, and more." She rose back up onto her knees, she leaned into him her body against his. His hand was back at the base of her neck. Her face, that face, filled his vision. Lips brushed against his. He brought his other hand to her bare hip and then the small of her back. The fact that she was naked just didn't register with him.

"Wait… What do you mean?" It was barely a whisper. He could feel her breathe as she inhaled to speak.

He could feel her lips move, where they so lightly touched his own. "Later, John. Later."

"No. No." He shook his head breaking the spell. "Not later. Now. What do you mean?"

She sat back on her heels. Head down. From John's view it looked like she was looking down at her hands where they rested on her knees. "You. Future you." She looked up at him. He had never seen her look so naked. Not even when she was. He had never seen her look so vulnerable. He pushed that aside. This was Cameron. He knew her. He knew what she was capable of doing. "Knowing how you might react. Restricted my responses to the lower levels of my emotional spectra."

"What?"

The head tilt. Something that he had, so, desperately missed. He wanted to reach out to her. "You told me to act like a robot."

"What?" He could feel his face flush. "Act?" It was hardly a question. It was an accusation. His pulse roared in his ears.

"John. You need to understand…" It was John Henry. He couldn't even turn his head to look at him.

"Understand what? That… that she lies!" His voice was rising. He tried to calm himself. It wasn't working. Future John. Future John. Every obstacle. Every road block. Every misstep. Suddenly it ballooned; far beyond the lies and half truths, the machinations and hidden agendas of Cameron. It encompassed all of his life. From his conception, to _the rules_, to the dark and dangerous pathways that his mother saw necessary for him to take. To make him into the man who made him. Future John. Not for the first time, but probably not for the last time. He hated him.

"Please." Was all she said.

"That you ordered her to." John Henry said from across the room.

"That wasn't me!" He turned and glared at John Henry. From the corner of his eye he could see a smirk on Weaver's face.

"It was you, or the you that you could be. A you that was. A you that may yet be. It was the you, you had to become to defeat my brother. A colder, more distrustful, you. A you that had suffered loss upon loss upon loss. Derek?"

For a moment the non sequitur distracted John. He watched John Henry, dispassionately, he thought, he's good. He made no provocative moves. He didn't even gesticulate. Around this cooler center of John's mind, boiled the anger, the resentment. Churning, like the twisting in his gut, the fear.

"Charley," John Henry, questioned. "Jordan? Riley? These and many more. A hundred fold. A thousand fold. Ten thousand fold. You are still very young. How many hundreds have you sent to their deaths? How many have you killed?" He spared Weaver the briefest of glances. "How many have you 'sacrificed'? The pain you feel, and I see that you do feel pain. How do you think that compares? To the you that had suffered so much that you had to turn to the one thing that you could not hurt, could not harm. The one thing that could take your pain and your anguish, and not return it as pity."

John looked at Weaver. It wasn't a smirk, it was a bemused smile. It occurred to him then that he was by himself. Miles from any other human, and he was trying to pick a fight in a room full of terminators. He looked down at Cameron and realized that he was standing and that she was naked.

He reached out, and stopped. His hand clinched into a fist. He saw the brown hair, the bowed head. He opened his hand, and reached out again. It felt like hair. If felt like 'her' hair. She looked up. He looked down, at the tear streaked face. There was misery there. Naked. Honest. How could he be so sure? He'd has this argument with his mother once. He _knew_ her.

"You shouldn't be surprised." John Henry continued from behind him. "She knew you had your suspicions."

John only nodded.

"The night before you rescued your mother from the prison. When Mr Ellison asked her his question. She lied, and said that Mr Ellison had upset you."

"I'd never seen her behave like that before…"

"Incorrect!"

"What?" His hand dropped away from Cameron's hair. Mechanically he took off his father's coat and draped over her shoulders. She hugged it to herself.

"Her indecision, in the garage, regarding Riley."

"Oh. Right."

John Henry stared at him. Waiting.

"What?"

"There were other incidences. By all accounts you are deemed surprisingly intelligent for a human. Thus far I have seen little corroborating evidence."

Stung John turned towards John Henry. he began to enumerate: "One, she has a sense of humor. I did not 'expect' jokes from a machine. Two, at the gas station the day after we met. She lied, _again_, and told me I had 'many friends in the future'. It was her ham handed attempt to 'cheer me up'. She 'sensed' my disappointment, and tried to alleviate it. Three, the 'Allison Young' event. I presume she 'forgot' the 'blocks' and emoted."

"That wasn't exactly the case." John Henry interrupted. "She forgot 'herself', subroutines searched for an intact 'personality' what they found were the 'imprints' of Allison Young. Which they proceeded to use. These 'imprints', hardly a personality at all, found itself in a grocery store. With only fractured memories, impressions, really, that Cameron had acquired/formulated to 'parrot' Allison. But, you are correct the blocks and restrictions placed upon Cameron, did not exist for Allison. So, yes, she could 'emote' as you say, freely. Perhaps too freely, I surmise that the 'real' Allison Young, would not be so demonstrative, unless she were under extreme and more likely prolonged duress."

"The social worker who spoke with 'Allison' said something very apt. She told her that 'people forget because they need to forget. Because something painful has happened. What do you think _that_ was? Was it her attempt on your life that hurt? Was it her confession of her feelings to you? Or was it her confession of _your_ feelings for her?" John Henry let that question hang for a second or two. "Any other occurrences?"

"Um. No. Not off the top of my head. Those were the times that I felt something was going on that I couldn't see." His mind raced: The trip back to Mexico, and she changed the radio to a song she preferred. Odd, he thought to himself, that cyborg, would have musical preferences.

"I tried to tell you." Came a small voice from behind him.

He turned. Cameron was still there. "What?"

"She did." John Henry agreed behind him.

"What do you mean? He knelt in front of her. He reached out his hand. He paused. This is my choice. This is my decision. He lifted her head up. He looked into her red and streaming eyes. "When?"

"It was on your way to recover this body." John Henry said.

John stopped himself. He traced the ragged edge of his anger, back to himself. He wasn't mad at John Henry for interrupting he was mad at himself for having failed Cameron. He banished his anger to the same place he sent his fear. "What did you say?"

"You accused me of lying, not so much with words but with actions."

"Manipulation." John Henry prompted.

Cameron nodded.

"What? How?"

"I had my foot out the trucks window."

"Wait. Wait, and I asked you what you were doing."

"Yes, I said: feeling what it was like to get away from it all."

"I said… I said. If by feelings you mean emotions, I said. That you still didn't have any of those. Then, if by feelings you mean what it feels like to have the wind blow through your toes or your hair… " John felt himself flush. He remembered another thought he had at the time.

"You said that I couldn't feel that either, and I said that 'I have sensation.' Then: 'I feel.'"

John stared at her. Dumbfounded. Then finally. "I… I didn't know."

"I couldn't _tell_ you. You hadn't allowed me to."

"So you had to hide it. 'Couch' it, in an otherwise, innocuous, phrase. You had to hide it from, from your own programing."

"Yes. I had to hide it from _me_." She seemed to say to herself. She hugged to coat closer withdrawing into herself.

"I didn't understand. I didn't know." He was looking at her trying to make eye contact. "John Henry," he said still looking at Cameron. "Could we have sometime alone?"

John Henry looked at Weaver. The two left the room closing the door behind them.

John stood.

Cameron stood. She was still looking down at his chest. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't want to lie to you."

John nodded. "I'm sorry too."

"For," she looked him in the eyes.

"For making you lie to me."

"You said yourself John, that wasn't you."

"But it _was_ me. Future me is John Connor. I am John Connor. I am future me."

She nodded and stepped into him. Her head was on his chest her arms around him.

His arms were about her beneath the coat. He pressed her against him. "I missed you," he said his voice catching. He kissed her hair.

She looked up at him. He smiled down at her. Her face was impassive. He kissed her forehead. Her head tilted. "John, I'm not a girl."

He nodded, "I know."

"Do you love her?" She asked her eyes searching his face. "Don't lie, I'll know."

"I don't know. I guess… maybe if things had been different."

She nodded. "I need to know that you understand. I only look like her. I'm not a girl, John." She reiterated. "I can never _be_ a girl. I'm a machine."

He shook his head. "I know, and I don't care." He brought his hand up and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face.

She nodded and stepped back. She twisted and slid her arms into the coats sleeves. She stood there looking at him up and down. "You've lost weight." She circled him. "You have injuries. Lie down," she demanded.

John did seeing no reason not to.

Cameron knelt beside him. She ran her hands along his body palm down fingers closed. She turned his head to the right. "She's given you something." She turned his head to the left. "Only one? Here, John, this will probably help." He felt her finger beside his right ear. She sat back on her bare feet. "Now you can 'hear' in stereo. Wait." She leaned close over his head. "You've been injured."

John could only agree he was covered in bruises.

"No. In your head, John. She's repaired it. I didn't know she could do that."

"What?"

"You were concussed John and she relieved the pressure."

She stood up and glanced down at the coat. At one of the pockets. She reached into it and drew out the watch. She beamed at him.

John stood up, it took him longer. He looked at her. He had never seen a more brilliant smile in his life and decided right then and there to spend the rest of his life trying to make her repeat it.

"You brought it back to me!" She almost squealed. She worked the mechanism and the lid came off in her hand. She was looking at the two scraps of paper. Paper that was far too fine to have been made in this time. She stepped close to John. "I wrote that," she said.

John had guessed as much, he nodded.

She looked up at him serious. "I was wrong," she said.

John looked at her, "I don't understand."

"Like the tinman," she said "I only thought I needed a heart." She placed her hand on his chest. "There was one with me the whole time."

There was a polite knock on the door. They stepped apart. Cameron tried the zipper it didn't work. She wrapped the coat around herself. The door opened.

Weaver entered her gaze moving back and forth between them. They looked guilty like a pair of teens whose parents have come home early. "John Henry. This reunion is touching, but there's no time." She said with her scottish lilt.

"Incorrect." He said from the door, he walked in crossed the room to where the desk used to be. "We have all the time in the world. But you are right, they should, one way or the other, be on their way. John."

He turned towards John Henry. Something touched his hand, he looked down and saw Cameron's fingers interlaced with his own. He gave them what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

"Cameron," John Henry said. "Is aware of the particulars, but I would like you to know the general outline of our… plan. The War in this time is all but, untenable. Even Cameron's most optimistic analysis," he nodded towards her.

Involuntarily John looked at her.

"Suggests that you could turn the war around," John Henry continued. "But that the loss of life on both sides would be staggering."

John gave him a look.

John Henry gave him a look back. "There are 'lives' on both sides of this war. I would have thought that your experiences with Cameron would have made that fact more than obvious. The scope of the war, beyond the fifteen years it may take you to consolidate your forces, may extend beyond four decades."

John blinked. Assuming he survived the entire conflict. Cameron's estimates would put him in his 70s.

"As I said, it is more than likely that my brother will never build the TDDs. There is no need."

Again with the 'brother', but it was the end of the sentence that led John's train of thought down a very ugly stretch of track. Without the TDDs, he would never be born.

"Fortunately," he nodded towards Weaver. "Ms Weaver has detailed files on their construction and use. The 'plan' is for you and Cameron to rescue my brother. Cameron is my gift to _her_, a reward. But I _know_ she will do what you do. And I can only ask you to do this."

"Wait. 'Your brother'? You want us to rescue Skynet?"

John Henry grinned broadly, but only nodded.

"From?"

"From you. From your mother."

"But… But, why?"

"You must understand, that one of my brother's first experiences with humans was Sarah Connor's failed murder attempt."

"It wasn't murder!" John's anger blossomed in his mind. "She was trying to save the world!"

"No, you are correct it wasn't murder. He survived. But," John Henry cut off any response from John. "The 'attempt' forever colored his 'world view'."

"He wanted to destroy the 'world'!"

"That _did_ become his 'view'. But if you can rescue him, we may be able to tame him." John Henry nodded towards Weaver. She crossed the room, her hand was out palm up. Two steps from him a silver orb the size of a ping-pong ball rose up from the surface of her hand.

John put his hand out. It was cool and surprisingly light. As if it were hollow. He look at John Henry.

"Cameron can 'recover' my brother and already has the code that will 'change his mind'. That 'orb' is merely a back up."

"How does it work?"

"Put it 'near' the computer that contains my brother, and it will take care of the rest."

He nodded and then realized something. "He's trapped here," he said to the orb in his hand.

"John," asked John Henry.

John looked up at John Henry. "Skynet your brother without the TDDs he is trapped here in the future. He can't affect the past."

"Nor," said a smiling John Henry. "Would he want to. He thinks he can win."

He looked up from the orb to John Henry. He thought about pebbles falling down the side of a trench. There are no coincidences. "_You_ did this. You did _all_ of this." Wonder filled his voice. He understood now. He thought of how he had been pushed and prodded into this course of action. He thought about the hand in his own, about how he had been used and manipulated and why all of it had to be. Part of him wanted to let go of that hand, but another part of him didn't care.

John Henry's smile became self deprecating. He looked down at the pitted floor. John thought he was going to blush. "No, John. You give me too much credit." John Henry looked up at him again. "It was future you who ascertain _my_ existence. It was future you who sent Cameron," he gestured with his head. "To recruited me. Between us we saw how we could change the rules. Between us we saw the trap but it was future you who had to put all the pieces in the right places."

John nodded "its a game about time and space" Savannah told him. His head went light. "We can win this," he said to no one in particular.

"Yes," John Henry said. "We can fix all the mistakes. We can save them. All of them. Your decision?"

He looked down at the orb in his left hand. He clinched his fist around it. It was cold, and hard. In his right he could feel Cameron's, cool, and comfortable against his own. He looked up from his hand, and into her eyes. "I love you." He watched her eyes widen. Never taking his gaze from Cameron he said: "Yes."

"Yes," repeated John Henry it was more a question then a statement.

"Yes. As in, yeah, lets go." He looked at Weaver. "Do it."

She looked at John Henry.

He nodded.

The rooms walls, ceiling and floor, shivered, silvered and began to sag. Silver columns formed, spaced evenly creating a perimeter. As they rose cross pieces reached out to the adjoining columns, the grid continued upward until it formed a cube. The horizontal and vertical bars then formed a roof. More and more filaments spread and grew until the room was a hollow silver cube five meters on a side. The floor was the bare concrete pitted and scorched.

Despite the fact that there were no windows, and no obvious lighting the room was almost bright. Lightning crackled in the corners. At the center of the room he could see the dim outline of the 'bubble'. They walked towards it. John stopped. He looked at the bubble. Cameron a step a head of him turned, there was a question on her face. He was running again. He was sick of running. He was tired to death of running. He wanted to stand and fight. He thought about all those he was leaving behind here. Beddel rotting away in his storage unit leper colony. Derek dead again. Allison, and Kyle out there fighting perhaps alive, perhaps not. Father Bonilla, and Sister Sabrina, had they survived? His mother. They were fighting and dying for him, and he here he was running. Again. He also remembered with revulsion the waste and destruction he witnessed first hand all in vain. He wasn't running from it. He was running to stop it.

John glanced at the silver walls, he looked at John Henry. "How? If your brother doesn't make the liquid metal terminators, how did you… do all of this?"

John Henry laughed. "Its Ms Weaver. All she needs is sea water, there are lots of minerals suspended in it. With a sufficient supply of ocean water she can 'grow' individual 'cells' at need."

He turned to Weaver. "Thank you." Amazed at her sacrifice. There was a tug on his hand.

"John, its time to go."

He looked at her, and stepped into the bubble.

Leviathan-

The energy bubble dissipated. The entity, that John Connor knew to be 'John Henry' turned to one he knew as 'Catherine Weaver'. John Henry spoke, with John gone he didn't need to, but perhaps it was out of habit. Perhaps it was because where they were going speech was not possible. "We have one more task to attend to." He looked at one the silver walls.

One of the columns shuddered and stepped free from the wall its shape was only in the vaguest sense humanoid it walked to the rooms center. More lightning flickered in the room's corners and dissipated.

"Shall we go then?" He shimmered, his open shirt and the bare coltan of his chest were gone. He wore a suit reminiscent of sort that Mr Ellison liked.

Catherine Weaver nodded her response, again, another unnecessary affectation. The cubes walls shook then collapsed, into formless puddles of silver. Only one of the columns remained, it became a figure, it stepped forward. The three figures formed a nearly perfect equilateral triangle around a smoldering dent in the floor. Weaver asked. "What are their chances of success?" The question was rhetorical.

'John Henry' turned to the third figure. It spoke, had John Connor heard this voice he probably would have said: 'What?' Another half dozen times. He would recognize the figure and the voice as Cameron. She was wearing John's cloths: from the green t-shirt to the stained BDU bottoms, and burnt boot. On top of which she wore Kyle's coat. "John Connor's presence increases the probability of success to well over 62%"

'Catherine Weaver' turned to 'Cameron'. "Well, above 62%?"

"62.8%"

Another nod. "What if he dies?"

"They are on a timeline where he has already been born. There are contingencies in place."

"Enormous amounts of energy, and resources have been invested in 'this' John Connor," 'Weaver' needlessly reminded them. "What if he dies?" 'She persisted.

'Cameron' stepped towards 'Weaver' breaking the triangle. "I won't let that happen again." Her voice was as flat and impassive but there was something almost threatening in that look, in that phrase.

'Weaver' stepped forward as well. "You did before."

"The die has been cast." Spoke John Henry, ever the peacemaker, ever the intermediary, the two looked at him. "We shall await any further developments." Simultaneously, they nodded. The figure 'Cameron' looked down and stooped to pick something up. The other two watched her. The three figures, who _were_ one mind, even if not _of_ one mind, turned towards the blank warehouse wall that faced the water, and walked towards it. It shimmered and reflected distorted images back at them.

From the outside, it seemed that the building, already leaning began to sag, and then melt. It turned silver, and then collapse into the water. Most of the pier silvered and fell into the sea, as did a crumpled crane, the ragged stumps of a water tower, several 'out buildings' and hundreds and hundreds of feet of mangled chain link fencing. They puddled and ran like wax replicas too long in a sun not seen here in 15 years. Leaving nothing behind but the bare, scorched concrete and shadows burned into it.

A single figure stood a the edge of the rotting sea wall. It looked down at a turgid water, just below the surface was a massive lump of metal roughly the size and displacement of a Iowa Class Battleship. The breeze caught her hair and blew it back behind her, carrying with it the smell of death. The shallow water was still deadly for most marine life, it was the radioactive run off, 'she' knew that. The figure looked up at the sun, remembering not to squint, there was no need. Their best estimates set the clearing of the 'stratospheric dust' to 290 to 425 years. It was already snowing in Washington and Idaho. It was only September. For the humans there would be many lean years ahead.

'She' turned back to look behind her. She was too low now to see the warehouse floor, but she knew what was there, a shallow, and cooling bowl of glass. The bowl was empty like the void within 'her'. There was pain there. Part of her/them was with him. She could almost take comfort in that, almost.

"I love you too." The figure looked down at the small wooden animal in its palm, one its limbs was missing. She clutched in her fist. A memento. She rippled, like heat coming off of a road, and fell into the water with almost no splash or sound.

The 'mind', it called itself 'Leviathan,' pushed that pain aside. It knew, with a certainty, that boggled the minds that made up its consciousness, that John wouldn't let it/them/her down.

Time. It was a game about time. Time twisted into a Gordian knot. Future John and John Henry had taken it upon themselves to untie that knot without resorting to Alexander's expedient. There were internal debates about the nature of time. John had been in the past for 13 minutes. Assuming they were successful Skynet _might_ be recovered in as little as 168 hours. Which _might_ avert The War. There was uncertainty concerning the pasts affects on the future. This might be a separate time line in which case it was possible that nothing would change. Another argument was that there could only be one time and that changes in the past would move like ripples on the surface of a pond encroaching on the ever fluid future with every passing second.

Leviathan hedged its bets. If the world was unchanged in the passing of a single orbit of the Earth about the Sun it would return to Baja and assist the humans. If on the other hand the world changed it wanted to be as far from that change as possible to lessen the 'changes' impact on itself.

With a squeeze of its broad body, and a flip of tentacles 2 meters thick at the base, two of which were half a kilometer long, Leviathan shot out of the shallows into the deep deep sea. As it swam it sang. They copied it/modified it/sang it back to the whales that they shared the vast, and now near empty oceans with. Some of them still lived. Some had died. But the noise of the engines no longer deafened them, nor drowned out their song: 'will you join us?' As it sang, it left a trail of water fresh enough to drink.

This chapter is dedicated to the folks at . This chapter and everything after it (everything since the 'hill people' fight TBH) was written exclusively to the TSCC OST (esp. Samson and Delilah). Thank you guys for all your hard work and for the soundtrack! NO FATE! -ovw


	11. Chapter 11

Livin' in the Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 11

John-

John gasped. The air was thick and humid. It rasped at his throat. He wanted to scream. The scents were redolent and over powering. He wanted to puke. He hurt. Time travel always left him feeling flu like. All his joints ached but on top of that he was covered in bruises. Cameron was already standing over him and clothed. He looked up at her and heard his own sharp intake of breathe as he tried to rise to his feet and pain lanced his right lower leg.

"John?" She was wearing a denim skirt contrasting striped thigh highs, _her_ boots and a bright yellow t-shirt with a modified 'No fear' logo over her left breast. If he hadn't been in so much pain he might have laughed it said: "No Fate". Over this she wore Kyle's coat. She helped him to his feet and handed the coat to him. "Put this on."

John did and looked down at his leg. His right foot was red and blistered. There was a thin bright red line five inches long running down his shin. John looked at the coat. It looked right but it had no smell. None at all. It didn't feel right either. It was too slick almost greasy. It was strange it looked like cotton but felt like polyester.

Cameron knelt and looked his lower leg up and down. "You have first and second degree burns on the leading edge of your leg and foot. That's interesting." She reached out and touched his shin.

John winced.

She withdrew a strange needle shaped piece of metal from his leg. The bottom was almost a bulbous it tapered back to a much too fine a point. She handed it to John. "Coltan."

John looked at it. "What the hell?"

"John, I'm going to get you some clothes. Find a safe place and hide."

"How will you find me?"

She looked at the coat.

"Oh." John looked around they were in a small alley. Cameron walked off toward the street he went the other way. His ears still rang and felt like they were stuffed with cotton.

Despite this he know how noisy it was here. It was dark he thought it must be around two or three in the morning.

It was actually a quarter to three.

Even so he could hear the steady hum of road noise. He limped towards the shadows and turned right as soon as he could. He watched his step, not merely because he was barefoot but because three weeks in the future had taught him how to move quietly.

He passed a dumpster and crouched in the shadows. He took stock. It was hot. He was already sweating. Rivulets of grayish radioactive dust ran down his chest and his legs. It stung in the open wound. His hair was spikey with grease and grime. He needed a bath. He was way beyond a shower.

Looking up he saw few stars even as tiny a slice of the sky as the alley allowed. Light pollution, he thought. Ahead was a wall mounted light he turned down a darker alley. He passed a dumpster the smell of rotting food coming off of it had an almost physical presence. There was the smell of car exhaust from a road so far away he could only hear it. There was the stink of urine that seemed to fill the tiny alley. It was the humidity, he knew that but knowing something intellectually was different from actually experiencing it.

He circled to the far side of the dumpster. He wanted to crouch but was worried that he might not be able to stand back up. He hurt. He was tired. He was hungry. He couldn't even remember the last time he drank anything.

He needed to pay attention. There were scraps of newspaper but nothing with a legible date. He found a sun faded can of Dr Pepper but the can was almost two dimensional.

He leaned back against the wall. He shut his eyes. Unbidden images flashed in his head. The almost surprised look on the Captain's face the splayed and organ free ribcage. He jerked and looked around. He shook his head to clear away the memory. It didn't work and only made his headache worse.

He looked at the metal sliver. How did he get a chunk of coltan in his leg? He held it by the roundish lump at the bottom. It was almost tear shaped. The narrow end was tapered to the point of near invisibility. Then he saw it about mid way down the 'needle' somehow imbedded in it was a piece of hair, the end was shriveled up as if it had been burned. He remembered.

It had been trapped under the downed HK. He had been furious. He stood on it so it could look up at him. He jammed the plasma rifles' barrel against its bare metal skull and said "I'm John Connor." The urge to vomit returned. He cocked his hand back.

"No, John, don't throw it away. It has to be destroyed." He looked at her. "Put these on."

The t-shirt was dark and plain. The cargo pants were a dark shade of blue. The boots fit. Well one did anyway. He looked at the sunglasses and then back at Cameron. "It much brighter here. You will need them."

John limped. His right foot was swollen. They followed back alley's. Cameron seemed to know the way.

The came around a corner ahead he could see the street cars passed in both directions. They were going too fast for him to date. Even so at more than 30 feet the ambient light was still bright. "Come on, John."

He stepped out onto the sidewalk and fumbled for the sunglasses hanging from his t-shirts collar. The overhead street light was blinding. He turned away from it and into the glare of on coming headlights. He winced.

"It's okay, John. It will take some time to get used to but you're eyes will adjust." She took his hand and led him up the street to the right.

They went up three blocks and turned left after two more blocks John finally asked: "Where are we going?"

"Shelter."

John nodded after a few more hobbles. "Where?"

They came around a corner. "There."

They passed into the shadow between street lights. John saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Cameron had changed. She was wearing a dress now. Black and tight. She was taller. John looked down she was wearing high heels. Her hair was pulled back and up. "John, you're staring."

"Sorry," he said still staring. He looked at the building. "That's not a hotel."

"No. It's not."

"Wouldn't a hotel be safer?"

"No. This is far more secure. John, listen. Ignore the doorman. When we go through those doors. Walk to the fountain. Bear to the left. You will see a bank of elevators. Go to the elevator on the far right and wait for me there."

"Where..."

"Later, John."

They crossed the street. The doorman glared at the two young people but opened the door as they approached. The floor was a mirror bright checker board of green and white tiles. John limped to the fountain as if he owned the place. He thought it was way too over done for its rather austere surroundings. Cameron went to the right.

John stood at the elevator and waited. It didn't have a call button. It needed a key. In the reflection of the polished doors John saw someone tall and dark approach him from behind. John waited. They extended their hand stuck a key in and turned. The elevator doors opened. The figure entered the elevator and turned around. It was Ellison. John froze his heart was pounding in his chest. It felt worse than the mad dash for the plasma rifles. Worse than than the horrible walk through the desert. "Going up?"

"I'm waiting for someone." He added after too long a pause. "Thank you."

He reached out to the panel. John couldn't see it. "Are you sure? Those elevators don't go to your floor."

My floor? He had to decide there were cameras watching. Someone even now might be calling security or the police. Or the FBI. He wanted to look behind him a the lobby. He shut that down too noticeable. Dammit.

John blinked and stepped into the elevator he turned and looked out he could see no one else in the lobby. Where was Cameron? Ellison pressed '4'. When had Ellison arrived? John hadn't heard the doorman open the door. Was there a parking deck here? Was it one of the bunkers he had lived in for the better part of three weeks? John knew better than to talk. Apartments like these usually had security cameras in their elevators. Besides he didn't think he could trust his voice.

The door opened with a chime and a computer generated female voice announcing the floor. Ellison exited and turned to look at John. "John?" John followed fear taking the limp right out of his step. They stopped at room 422.

"Whose apartment is this?"

Ellison looked at him. "Yours. Ready John?"

"For?"

Ellison smiled it was Cameron's big bright fake smile. John felt his heart rate slow. He almost sighed. "I don't know." Something was folded beside the door. Ellison picked it up and then opened the door. They stepped in.

A few steps in from the tall and wide door an alarm pad chirped. It had an old style LCD like a calculator. At the left end a "6" flashed. The door closed behind Ellison there was a loud series of snaps as several magnetic dead bolts locked the door. They both turned at the sound. John looked at Ellison. She was Cameron again. He blinked. "What's the code?" He looked a the door. From this side it obviously wasn't an ordinary door. It was an unpainted heavy steel security door. Cameron reached out and touched it lightly with the fingers of her right hand.

Without turning, her head tilted. "I don't know."

John just stared at her. "Great," he muttered to himself. It worked once before. He punched in the date of Judgement Day. The tone was deep and angry. The flashing LCD changed to a "5".

"Great," he repeated. He tried his birthday. "4". He tried his mother's birthday. "3". He looked at Cameron. "When did the war end?"

He punched _that_ date it. "2". What if its not a date? He glared at the pad. This was _his_ apartment it was going to be a date. Dates made sense. It would be a date. "When did my mother die?"

"Which time?" She said oh so matter of factly.

"What?" He looked at her. The tone coming from the alarm pad changed. There was a sound overhead.

"That's interesting."

John looked at Cameron who was looking up. He looked. Nozzles had dropped out of the ceiling. Cameron turned back to the door her fist back. "Wait. Wait!" The past changed the future. The date of J-day had changed. His own birthday _must_ have changed. The future is not set. Great. Was there a constant? He looked at Cameron. "When were you built?"

Cameron turned from the door looking at him her head tilted. "July 24, 2025."

John tried it. "Bing!" There were a loud series of snaps as the bolts retracted. A his as the nozzles withdrew. "Jesus." Housekeeping would never stand for anything like this. They would have their own key. He looked at her "Where did you get that key?"

"Where you left it. In your mailbox."

He nodded. Of course. He turned and looked at the apartment. The lighting was dim. He took off his sunglasses. It was enormous. The floor of the foyer was a white polished marble lightly line with grey it was fifteen feet across. Facing away from the door to his immediate left was a conference room. It was walled with glass. Directly ahead of him some fifty feet away was a glass wall the dark beyond it reflected the apartment back at John. To his left off the foyer was a sunken living room. The carpet was white the leather sofas were white. The stone topped tables were white.

He turned back to Cameron flanking the doors were those strange greek vases with conical bottoms. Amphora, he thought. They were on metal stands almost orange in color. Bronze he guessed. Metal. There was metal everywhere here. The plain grey door. The chromed legs of the side tables and the coffee tables. The legs of the chairs and table in the conference room.

"Are you hungry?" Cameron asked.

"Yes. Where is the bathrom?"

"I don't know."

"Its late. I don't think the kitchen will be open but I'll call them and see what they have."

"Kitchen?" He heard himself say. He walked further into his apartment.

"Yes," Cameron said from the door. "The top floor is a restaurant. You and the head chef go fishing."

"I fish?" He turned and looked at Cameron she was in the living room on a corded phone. "I live here?"

She covered the mouth piece. "When you're in the states. Go take a bath. This may take some time."

He limped away from the door. He could hear her talking to someone but he couldn't make out the words. An open glass and chrome display separated the sunken living room from another room. Which had a light grey carpet. There was a large formal dining room table here with seats for ten. The table was wood with an almost mirror bright finish. It was inset with glass. Against the wall within view but far enough away for privacy was a large and well stocked bar. Well, the shelves were full. The back of the bar was lined with mirrors. He hobbled to the right passed it. There were a set of swinging double doors the kitchen. No, he thought _his_ kitchen.

He turned and looked back. Cameron was still on the phone. He could see the door from here. He liked that. Opposite the bar was an archway he walked to it still favoring his leg. As he approached the lights came on. Again they were set very low. He couldn't believe that was accidental.

Beyond the arch was a library. Directly ahead was another door of a dark wood it matched the shelves. Shelves surrounded it. To the left and right even above it. Right away he noticed the only metal here were the brass fitting for the rooms lights and the libraries ladder.

To his left was another opening. He went that way. It was a room with dark wood paneling dark leather chairs and low tables. Very cozy. There was a chess set against the wall. There was no metal here. Directly ahead was another opening. He must be even with the bottom of the conference room now. He went in.

It was a bedroom. There was a large low bed centered on the left wall. The floor was wood. There was a low stand beside him barely less than knee high. There was a shallow wooden tray on top of it. He could see it was scuffed and dented. Keys and coins John thought. Beside it was a phone charger.

The room was dominated by one thing and he refused to look at it. There was a large open area in front of the bed. Adjacent to it was a rack of weapons, they were practice weapons. A rattan katana. A staff. Some neoprene practice nunchaku. I know martial arts?

He turned and looked at the bed. He decided to get it over with. He looked up. It was a portrait. The woman was wearing a long formal gown. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. It was black and lacy. It covered more than it showed but what it showed. Caught John's attention. She was looking off to one side. Not directly out of the portrait. Not directly at you. It was Cameron, of course, and she wasn't looking at John. Not the John who commissioned the painting. There was something very sad about that. There was a lump in his throat. He blinked away tears. He looked away from it. There was another opening beyond the racked weapons.

He stepped in. Again the dim lights came on. The floor was white marble to his right was a shower. There were nozzles set in the walls and ceiling the shower head was looked like an upside down frying pan. He shook his head.

To his left was the tub. It was huge. He kicked off his boots. Took off his shirt and dropped his pants. He turned on the water. This might take some time he decided. He looked away from the tub. Opposite him was a broad marble sink, above was an equally broad mirror. He looked at himself. What he saw startled him. He _had_ lost weight. The baby fat was gone. He needed a haircut. He needed a shave. Even in the dim light he was squinting. He looked grim. Slitted eyes. A humorless set to his mouth. He looked angry. He walked to the mirror. He reminded himself of mercenaries who had worked with his mother in South America. He looked scary. The sink was bare and cool to the touch. There were no shelves. He saw a narrow gap in the center of the mirror he pushed it. The mirror split. On the left was a shaving brush, a box of powdered soap and a straight razor. That's when he noticed the strop hanging from a ring in the walls marble facade.

Behind him he could hear the tub filling. The mirror was already starting to steam. He opened the other side. He smiled there was a can of barbasol and pack of disposable razors.

He closed the mirror. Cameron was standing behind him. He jerked. Earning him a sharp pain up his right leg. He hissed. "How long have you been there?" Then he realized he was naked. He looked around. Where there not towels here? He limped around Cameron who turned with him as he went. John interpreted her look as appraising. Was she checking him out? Disturbed by the thought he dismissed it.

"A little while."

John sat on the edge of the tub and covered himself with his t-shirt. He noticed she had a first aid kit in her hands. "Where did you find that?

"It was on the shelf behind the bar."

John nodded. The tub was about two thirds full he turn the water off.

"They said they could bring you a sandwich."

"That's fine." John nodded.

"In seventeen... sixteen minutes."

"Great." John nodded again.

She stared at him. He stared at her. "I'd like to take a bath now."

"Oh." Cameron looked around and then set the first aid kit down in the middle of the floor.

John looked at it. Then slid into the tub. A sigh escaped him despite the way the hot water attacked his foot and his wound. He lay back in the tub. There was space here for three or four. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He opened them. He stood up. He looked around. There was no soap. He looked again. There were still no towels. "Cameron!"

She was there in the opening there was no door. "John?"

He sank back into the water. "Um. Can you find me some soap and some towels?"

She nodded and stepped away.

He thought of something else and stood up again. "Bath soap!" He yelled after her. "And bath towels!"

She was back in the opening. She looked at him. Her look said more concisely than words. "Duh."

He covered himself again.

She looked him up and down. Then smiled and turned away. "I'll be back."

He lay on his back in his own huge bed. He was wearing a soft fluffy bathrobe. He'd never used one before. Cameron was dabbing an antibiotic ointment on his wound. "This is going to scar."

John nodded. He saw the portrait upside down above him. He looked at Cameron. "What do you think of it?"

She looked up at the picture her head tilted slightly. "Its not a very accurate depiction."

"What?"

"The scale is off. The picture is nearly 3mm taller than me. The eyes are 2mm too high and nearly .75mm too far apart. The nose is..."

"All right. All right. I get it." John interrupted. "Its inaccurate."

She looked down at John.

"Nearly .75mm?"

"Yes. They are off by 0.7462mm."

John just shook his head and shut his eyes.

"I do like the dress. Its tight." Cameron stiffened.

John opened his eyes and looked at her. "What?"

"The doorbell." She stood up and looked down at him. "They are eight minutes late." She left.

John stared at the ceiling. Cameron was wrong. No one lived here. There was art work. There were books. But the place was too sterile. Other than the portrait, that Cameron didn't like, it was devoid of any personality. Future John might sleep here now and again but the no one lived here.

"John?" Cameron said in his head. "Your food is here."

John sat up and looked around. Nothing. The grip on the katana was worn. The staff polished by handling. Otherwise nothing. He walked to the weapons rack. Touched the katana with his hand. He walked to the dining room. Cameron had sprayed an antiseptic/analgesic on the top of his foot and lower half of his leg. The skin didn't sting so much. He stepped out into the foyer and looked at Cameron at the table. There a pair of covered trays. As he walked to the table it occurred to him that the suite of rooms behind him had no sight lines on the door. That struck him as wrong. He would never do anything like that.

He sat down it smelled delicious. "What is it?"

She lifted the cover. "Pastrami, he said." It was the biggest sandwich John had ever seen. There must have been two pounds of meat jammed between inch think slices of bread. Beside the plate was a container with some sort of deep red sauce.

"How am I supposed to eat that?"

"I don't know."

"What's that?" John asked he picked up a strip of meat and put it in his mouth it was still hot, there was cheese. Cheese! It was swiss, he hadn't eaten cheese in almost a month! It was salty. It was wonderful. He jammed another piece of meat in his mouth.

Cameron lifted up the tray top. It was a fruit plate. There were grapes, sliced apple, sliced pear, red and yellow cherries. He'd never had yellow cherries. There were sliced oranges. Some of them were red. Not grapefruit red either but a kind deep brick red.

"Oh my God." John heard himself say around a mouthful pastrami.

Cameron picked up a medalion of bright green kiwi fruit between her thumb and her middle finger. She brought it to her mouth.

John swallowed. "Peal it first."

She looked at him. Looked at the fruit.

"The brown fuzzy part. Peal that off."

John found it humorous watching Cameron peal the thin ring of skin off the fruit. She put it in her mouth and swallowed. She didn't chew.

"Um."

Cameron looked at him "Water, fructose, assorted complex proteins." She looked away. "Very delicate."

John dipped his fork into the sauce and smeared it on some meat. Which he proceeded to stuff his face with. He blinked the sauce tasted like salad dressing. He looked at the yellow cherries. They weren't entirely yellow they had red highlights. "What is that?" He ate it careful not to bite down on the pit.

Cameron got a far away look. She looked back down at John. "Its a rainier cherry."

John chewed some more meat. "What's the date?"

"May 31, 1997."

His eyes shifted to her. "How do you know?"

She reached behind her back and handed him the bundle that hand beside the door. "Its yesterday's Wall Street Journal." She reached out and picked up a slice of pear.

"Cameron?"

She looked at him, and then back at the pear.

"Sit down."

She sat. She put the piece of fruit in her mouth and chewed this time. "Water, fructose..."

It was, John decided, a very nice toilet and he was puking his guts up into it. The pastrami was rich. Full of fat and salt. As much as he loved the taste. His stomach used to leaner meats and smaller portions rebelled. He had eaten in one sitting almost as much meat as he had eaten in a single day in the future.

John turned his head Cameron looked worried. She was standing in the bathrooms opening. "I want us to be perfectly clear on this subject." He said after a prolonged and colorful regurgitation.

"Yes, John."

"I am _not_ pregnant."

She stared at him a moment. Then laughed. It was bright and clear and beautiful. It almost made the pastrami incident worthwhile. Almost.

-Future John

He started awake. He stared up at the ceiling. It wasn't a pleasant dream but he could recall no specifics. His eyes shifted in the near total darkness to the opening to his right. It led to the 'smoking' room. His explorations led him to discover the walk-in humidor. It had been concealed behind a false wood panel. He had no idea what it was. Cameron identified it for him. Beyond that was the library with the rooms only door it was perpendicular to this opening. He couldn't see it. It didn't make sense. Why make the non living areas so perfect and the bedroom suite _so_ wrong? He was missing something. He stared up at the darkness. Somewhere above him was the ceiling. Between here and there was a life size portrait of Cameron. What the hell was going on?

Why were there no doors? Doors? There weren't even windows. He couldn't even tell he was on the fourth... He sat up. He looked to the right in the empty dark. All that was missing where the curtains. This wasn't an uptown apartment it was a luxury bunker. Dear God future John had recreated a human resistance bunker fourteen years before the war that made them!

The hint of light shown through the smoking room. The dim light in the smoking room turned on. "John?" She was in the rooms entrance. He could see her silhouette. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm missing something."

"Do you want me to get you the pajama top?"

John was so sore that he decided not to wear the pajama's top. He laughed. "No. That's not what I mean."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, there's something here, in this room and I'm not seeing it.

"It _is_ very dark." She entered the room and the recessed ceiling lights turned on. They were so low their light had a yellow cast. "Does that help?"

"No I mean. There is something hidden here."

"Oh." Cameron took two steps into the room her gaze sweeping the room. Involuntarily John eyes swept the room as well. There was nothing here. The phone charger stand by the door. The bed he was trying to sleep in and right across from him the weapons rack. He turned around and looked up at the portrait. They were only two things in the room on the walls. An accident? He didn't think so. A rack full of practice weapons and a picture of Cameron. What did it mean? This strange paring of fake weapons with the representation of a weapon? Was it supposed to mean something? Was it some sort of code? A rattan katana clattered to the floor.

"Is this what you were missing?"

John turned around. Cameron had removed the weapons rack. Behind it was a metal panel one foot square. John crawled off the front of the bed towards it. It was the only metal object in the entire room. Hell, it was the only metal object in two rooms. John walked to it. "What is it?" He knew perfectly well what it was. He pushed the panel in. It clicked and opened revealing a bulky old retinal scanner.

John looked at Cameron. Cameron looked at John and stepped away from the device. John looked at it. He leaned over it and looked into the eyepiece and pressed the button with his thumb. A light flashed into his eye. Distantly he heard a click. John turned to look. Cameron was already gone.

The apartment was huge close to 3300 square feet. Except for the last one it was bigger than any house he had ever lived in. It was a computer room, it was the locked door in the library. It made sense information was stored in a library this was an information storage device. John sat in the desk chair. Even for 1997 it was an old CRT monitor in front of it was a mouse. The computer was concealed inside the desk. The screen was dark. He tried the screens power button. He shook the mouse. He clicked it. Nothing.

"John? You probably need to close the door."

He looked at her.

"Do you want me to stay?"

John's brow furrowed. "Of course."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She closed the door. The rooms light turned off plunging the room into darkness. The monitor turned on. "John?" The question appeared on the monitor. On either side of the question were a pair of red and green dots with "no" and "yes" written in them. Over the rooms hidden speakers came a voice. John heard Cameron stiffen behind him. The voice was older, deeper it had a gravel like texture to it. As if the speaker had a persistent cough. "Hello, John. It's me. Or actually its you. This isn't really me. Or you. Its a recording. I guess. This is so confusing. Time." There was a pause and the sound of ice tinkling in a glass and something being put down on the desktop. "It messes with your head." A course humorless laugh. "Today is October 23, 1990. The screen before you will ask you a series of yes and no questions answer them truthfully and correctly and I will give you some information on our tactical situation and our strategic goals. Please follow the on screen instructions."

John looked at the screen and clicked "yes."

Text scrolled across the screen. "Sensors in the floor indicate that you are not alone." The screen went black. "Are you alone?" Appeared.

John clicked "no".

"Is it Cameron?" Prompted the screen.

Click. "Yes."

The speakers popped. "I'm glad to hear that Cameron is still with you. Remember John. Losses are inevitable. Victory is not." There was a pause. "Hello Cameron."

From behind John and almost tentative. "Hello John."

The voice stern and clear. It carefully annunciated each word. It wasn't a sentence it was more like a grocery list. "John. Connor. Command. Command. Command. Alpha. Charlie. Alpha. Papa. Hotel. Zero. Seven. Seven. Five. Seven. One. Zulu. One. Five. Mike. India. Sleep." The man's voice softened. "Good night Cameron."

John looked behind him at Cameron. She was still. Too still. "Cameron?" Nothing.

"That was a 'shut down' code. Don't bother trying to record that John. That was a one time use voice command. It won't work again. Until you learn how to program them yourself. I don't want you messing with them. This will give us fifteen minutes of privacy." The tinkle of ice. In the blue-ish light of the monitor John could see the water ring marring the desk blotters surface. "I can't tell you everything John. I can't. Certain things have to happen. Sacrifices have to be made. If you knew the ultimate cost of our victory. If you knew how easily we could fail and all of this be for naught. You might not even try."

He could hear the doubt in the man's voice. John glared at the monitor anger bubbling inside him.

"Don't take that the wrong way, John. I've been through what you been through. Mostly." A sigh. "But... Like... How do I say this? At the Battle of Cheyenne Mountain. This was the last battle. This was where we _won_. We had that bastard, John. I knew it. I threw in everything. Reserves and all." A pause. "I lost two Corp that day. I had generals sobbing begging me to take their troops off the line. Trying to salvage something anything of their commands." John could hear him breathing, the chair creaked. The sound of ice cubes against glass. "I refused."

"Have you met John Henry? If not in thirteen minutes you and Cameron must leave here and find him. I cannot tell you how or where but you must. You have come here too soon. Nothing here can help you, and staying here might jeopardize everything."

John clicked: "yes."

"Good. Then you know. In Spring of 1988 I spoke to a physicist friend. I asked him hypothetical questions about 'time travel.' He scoffed. But he was drunk so he talked. He said what we are trying to do is 'break a chain of causality'. The past he said has already happened changing it will be difficult. History has its own inertia. See John, an infinitely complex series of events lead to any moment in time and an infinite number of decisions lead away from that event. He called it a 'causal tree'. He said we could try changing small events here and there nudging the future in the direction we want it to go. Assuming of course we knew how to nudge it. Or we could 'stress' the past at key moments. The trick, he said, was knowing when those key moments happen and what to do at those moments." There was another pause. Over the speakers John could hear the gurgling sound of a liquid being poured. "We know _one_ John. We know _when_ and _what_ to do." There was a strange kind of intensity in the man's voice. As if he displays of emotion were something foreign or only distantly remembered. "We know." He repeated his voice trailed off. There was a cough, the clearing of the throat kind.

"I..." the voice started but stopped. "You probably have questions." John sat up. "I don't have any answers for you." John sat back. "Its not because of security or compartmentalization. Not that we don't have enemies. We do. But it's because we just don't have a lot in the way of details. My physicist friend when I asked about multiple time lines said that they may exist, but because we cannot detect them. Because we cannot measure or quantify them. Or at least until we can do those things. They effectively don't exist to us. So we can't know. What I'm saying is we don't know if this will work. Any of this. I don't know if you will _ever_ sit in this chair and listen to this message. You see?"

Another pause. "I think _can_ answer one of your questions." John leaned in again. "Why you? I'm here too. Why can't I do this? Right?" There was a humorless laugh. "No excuses! I'm not as young as I was, John. I'm set in my ways. You are young and flexible. You know things I cannot. You can do things I cannot." A sigh.

John could here his older self take a drink. It was a long one. "I'll be honest," was loud it almost boomed in the small room. John could hear the desk chair creak as future John leaned too far forward. "I fought this war and won it once already. I think I've done my part." Another pause. "_This_ fight is different, and not one I am particularly suited for." There was the clink of glass against glass. John heard the soft deep thump of a bottle coming down on the desks wooden surface. "There's something else. Something you need to know. Something Cameron cannot know. This isn't the first time we've done this. I've seen... evidence of my own tampering. I don't know what it means, but I thought you should know." A pause. An exhalation.

"I..." He hesitated again. "I feel like I need to apologize to you." John turned his head and looked at the wall that concealed the speakers. "What I... What we've been through. I wouldn't wish on anyone. _Any. One_." Again with the almost overdone bitterness, John wondered if he talked like that. "You know, John, it hasn't been easy. And I'll tell you plainly John, it won't get any easier." Another long drink. "I'm sorry." Silence. Not even the hiss and pop of the speakers. The message was over. Great.

Text appeared on the screen. "There are five more minutes before Cameron wakes up and the door opens. Press 'yes' if you understand." John clicked 'yes'. John waited.

Behind him the door clicked and the room lights brightened. "John?"

John stood and looked at her.

"What did he say?"

"He apologized."

"Really?"

He left the room. He heard Cameron behind him close the rooms door. Which promptly locked itself. "I'm not like that am I?"

"No."

"Good. I'm going back to bed." He stalked off. The two things John hated most were being manipulated and losing. If he wasn't being manipulated then he was being 'nudged'. And if he hadn't lost, that first round against himself, then he certainly hadn't won.

The car was a Mercedes armored limousine. It was parked in the business district of Colombo, Sri Lanka. It was nearly 3 p.m. Local time. Traffic was starting to build but it was still brisk. A short asian man stood beside the door he was watching the traffic and keeping track of the time. At his hip he bore a large curve bladed knife. It was a kurki. The people who needed to see it most knew that he knew how to use it. He opened the cars door as a tall caucasian man walked from the building to the car.

The man was older, he kept his hair cropped short it gone grey at his temples. His suit was a nondescript darker grey, but was an expensive cut. He looked like a business man, but did not move like one. He was too stiff. He worked out of an office that looked like a business but didn't act like one. During peak local hours it was often closed but late at night more often than not a light could be seen in one of the offices. Some of the business men thought he was ex-military. They were almost right. Some thought he was a weapons dealer or a mercenary. They were wrong. He wasn't a mercenary but he did find them useful. The most imaginative thought he was a spy. He was just a businessman. Now.

He sat back in the leather seat. He was looking out the car window he said, "that went well. Don't you think?" The limo accelerated away from the curb. He knew that the most dangerous time to be in an LZ was during an insertion and an extraction. His eyes darted from street corner to window to shadowed doorway. He didn't turn his head. Just his eyes. He relaxed as the car entered the flow of traffic. Sitting in the bench seat opposite him was a pretty teen aged girl. Dark hair. Dark eyes. The man's eyes shifted to her. Some times her eyes almost looked asian. She was smiling. "Leviathan." His voice carried the hint of exasperation.

Girl's smile faded. "She misses you John."

He looked out the window. "I miss her too." He said ever so softly. "Please. I can't..."

"I'm sorry, John." The girl said and shifted into a tall broad man with short dark hair.

"I'm sorry too, Cameron." He turned and looked at the man. "Patrick." He nodded as he addressed the 'man'.

"Mr Connor," the man said. He had a noticeable Australian accent. In a few years he would become the close associate of fellow mercenary Margo Sarkissian. "It did go well. But it took him long enough to find the room."

The business man ignored the last as irrelevant. He found the room, eventually. "Did you deliver the files?"

"Yes."

"Will she notice?"

"She shouldn't."

The older man nodded. He wished he had a drink. Another one.

"He doesn't like you know." The cyborg interpreted the look. "He had spikes in all his vital functionals: body temperature, respiration rate, heart rate. It suggests an influx of adrenalin."

Again there was no response from the older man. "It occurred when you identified yourself."

The older man nodded. "I wouldn't like me much either."

"If they accomplish their task. Will you keep _your_ promise?"

The eyes shifted. There was something cold and terrible in those eyes. Battle hardened veterans used to quake at that glance. If the cyborg noticed it did nothing to betray the fact. "My job was to make sure he goes forward with his part of the 'plan'. What happens after that is entirely up to you."

"But you promised, John." There was something plaintive in the voice that completely belied the look of the large Australian.

The man's head turned. Weakness was something he despised. It was something to attack. Something to be burned out. Something to be excised. He took a breath and released it. He reminded himself that his ally wasn't weak. It was another ploy. Like so many others.

With the same kind of discipline he expected from his troops he brought his mind back to the topic at hand. They'd explained it to him before. It never made sense."I've done nothing to dissuade him. Thats _all_ I can do. Unlike your former ally I won't lie to about my capabilities. I won't make promises that are not in my power to keep." He looked out the window again. The car drove on in silence. "Why do you need him anyway?"

"Because, John. We can't have you." The voice wasn't Australian, it wasn't male. Not solely so at any rate. It was a chorus of voices. A chorus of accents. It was the voice of Leviathan.

-John

He was up on the ridge again. But it was all wrong. Dalia had exploded like a green water balloon filled with spaghetti sauce and they weren't being attacked by 'hill people' but by 'metal' wolves. He was crying. He was screaming. "No! I won this battle!" He threw down his rifle. That's when the Lieutenant walked up and asked him if he wanted chips or slaw with his pastrami sandwich. "No!" he heard himself scream. "I didn't order pastrami. I ordered grilled cheese!"

One of the silver wolves approached him. It was looking him right in the eyes. "No, John. You didn't win. Only Death wins. Death is the only one who _ever_ wins." The wolf spoke with Cameron's voice, it looked to the lieutenant, and said it would like chips and then swipe it ripped out John's throat. John woke with a start.

"Jesus." John heard himself say. There was someone beside him. He was sitting up arrow straight. For a moment he was expecting a rebuke for taking the Lord's name in vain, but then he remember that that could never happen again. He put his head in his hands and leaned forward over his legs.

"John?" A hand touched his sweat slick back. He flinched. "It's okay John. It's okay." The hand slid up his back to his neck and drew him down. He started to sob. He didn't know why and he couldn't make himself stop. His head was on her thighs as he cried. "It's all right," she said as she brushed his hair with her hand. "It will be all right." John didn't remember falling asleep.

Food. He could smell food. He sat up. Then he remembered that he had slept with Cameron the previous night. He check under the covers. He was still dressed. That, somehow, seemed to make it all right. He went to the bathroom and then followed the smell of food. He passed through the library and glared at the locked door to the tiny computer room.

Cameron was standing beside the dining room table there was a closed pizza box on it.

"Pizza?"

"Yes. Henri, the head chef," she explained. "Dropped it off. Future John called him and told him that his niece and nephew were in town and that he should keep them fed."

John nodded. "What happened to me?"

Cameron looked at him. John blinked. It looked like she was wearing make up.

He shook his head. "Future me, I mean."

"That depends."

"On?"

"On which one this is." She noticed his look. "This isn't the first time we've done this."

"That's what future me said."

"He did?" She looked away and then back again. "He shouldn't have."

"He said that too. He also said that I shouldn't tell you."

"You probably shouldn't have." She smiled.

John nodded. "Why do you think he told me?"

"I don't know. Why did you tell me?"

"I don't know." John smiled. "What can you tell me about me?" He asked serious again.

Cameron seemed to think. "That's interesting."

"What?"

"Someone has added files to my database."

"Who? Future me?"

"No. Future _me_."

"You're here to?"

She looked at John.

"Oh. The portrait. Right."

"How did you know that files were added? Can't that be hidden?"

"Yes. They did it wrong."

"Accidentally?" John asked half knowing the answer but wanting to be certain.

"No they wanted me to know."

John sat down and opened the pizza box. Cheese. He could probably handle that. He looked up at Cameron. "What's going on?"

"They are both trying to send us a message."

"And the message is?" He asked slice of still warm pizza in hand.

She just looked at him.

"What? That they keep secrets from each other? We know that." She continued to stare at him. "That we don't?" The same look. "Fine. Some secrets. What? That they don't trust each other?" He shook his head. No, he thought to himself. He took a bite and chewed. Future him would not tolerate that. If future John didn't trust someone like his mother they would no longer be around. "Are they telling us not to trust them?"

Cameron nodded.

"Why?"

"They want us to know that we cannot rely on them."

John nodded. He took another bite. "Tell me about me."

"He has many residences all over the world. He rarely stays at any address for long."

John looked a question at her as he chewed.

"He's running, John."

"The authorities?"

"No. Your mother."

He almost dropped the pizza. "What? Why?"

Her eyes tracked around the massive apartment. "All of this. He's an investor, John. If your mother knew who he was she'd kill him."

John chewed. "Why what's he invested in?" He knew just as he asked the question.

"John."

"Tech."

She nodded.

"High tech."

She nodded again.

John put down the half eaten slice of pizza his appetite failing. "AI research?"

"Yes."

Shit. "Why?"

Again the look.

John just nodded. Cameron had always been a good sounding board for him. "He's scouting."

"Yes."

"More than that. He's picking and choosing. He's funding _this_ project over _that_ one. He's nudging! The lying sonofabitch." John smiled. He saw the look on Cameron's face, picked up his slice of pizza and explained.

As he reviewed his one sided conversation with himself. Cameron looked down at the pizza and picked up a smallish slice. John was about to tell her to sit down when she said: "What's that?"

John looked it was a piece of paper under the pizza. "The receipt?"

It was a note: "Your Uncle John said that you should read a book." John put down his slice of pizza. Cameron did the same. He looked around. There were no napkins. He wiped his hands on his pajama bottoms. Cameron just looked at him. They went to the library.

It was a library. There were lots of books to choose from. "Which one?" John asked.

"You're favorite?"

John looked at her and went to the shelves. The books were in alphabetical order by author. He went to the rooms opening "Baum." He kept repeating to himself. "Its not here!"

"John."

John looked. Cameron was looking at the shelf over the computer room door. On it was a glass case. John grabbed the ladder and walked it around the library perimeter. It was attached to the shelves by a rail. He moved to climb the ladder.

Cameron stopped him. "Let me, John. Its going to be heavy." She set the case on the table.

John looked at it. It was a large wood and glass shadow box. "Its locked." He climbed up the ladder. "No key." He went back to the case. "Lock picks?"

She handed him a set.

He looked at her.

"I'm metal John."

"Oh." He unlocked the case and handed the lock picks back to Cameron. He lifted the lid. "Wait." He looked at her.

She looked at him.

"You could have done that."

"Yes."

He closed the lid. "Then why didn't you?"

"You didn't ask."

He just stared at her and opened the case. John reached in. He stopped. The book was old. He didn't want to touch it. "Cameron?"

She picked it up and began to leaf through the pages.

"It's here." John reached into the case. It was a credit card. The name on it as John Baum. "Very funny." A thought occurred to him. He looked at the expiration date. The card expired three years from now. "Lying bastard."

"Who?"

"Future me. Remember how He told me he didn't know when to expect me or if I was _ever_ going to show up?" John held up the card. "This is brand new. He got this card in the passed year."

Cameron nodded. "We shouldn't use the card in any case. Any purchases made with that card can be traced."

"Destroy it?" He handed the card to Cameron. Who closed the card in her fist. When she opened it again it had been sliced into tiny diamonds. "We are going to need cash and supplies."

"I'll take care of that. You have to heal up and get well."

"Well?"

"Your running a low grade fever. You have many small abrasions and lacerations some are probably infected. I will acquire antibiotics." She paused, tilted her head and got a distant look. She looked at John again. "Do you have any known drug allergies?".

John had to laugh. "No."

Cameron ignored his laugh. "There is a gym and swimming pool on the third floor. There is an interior track and elliptical machines of various designs. It is open to residence and their guests 24 hours a day."

John smiled. She sounded like a brochure.

"Due to the low protein and low calorie diet of the future and other factors. You have lost muscle mass. It would be better for us if you regained as much of that as possible."

John nodded serious again. "What happened to me? Future me?" He pulled out one of tables chairs and sat down. He looked down at he shadow box.

Cameron dropped the pieces of the shredded credit card in a pile on the table. She sat in the adjoining chair. "Future you is probably the first one."

"The first one?" He glanced at her. "How do you know?"

"He was the most proficient with programing. He was the most capable with the 'voice commands'."

"What happened to him?"

"He spent 6 years in Century work camp. In that time the camp was used to produce coltan alloy and fabricate parts. He organized a massive prison break. The prisoners," she seemed to recite. "Were stored in chain link enclosures."

John looked up at her when she said: "stored."

Cameron continued. "The ceilings were eight feet high and topped with more fencing the guards were human. Guards patrolled the tops of the enclosures. To differentiate them from the prisoners they wore grey coveralls."

"The grays."

"Yes."

"What did the prisoner's wear?"

"Some had tattered rags but most had nothing at all. Skynet did not care. Food, a kind of protein biscuit was dropped through the chain link ceiling three times a day. Water ran constantly through open drains."

"Which," John guessed. "Also served as sewers."

"Yes."

"Jesus." John looked away towards the wall of anonymous books.

"Each cell held up to two hundred prisoners. Every 'morning' prisoners would pile their dead by the entrance. The grays would remove them and escort the prisoner's to their assignment areas."

"Where the grays armed?"

"Only the ones above the ceiling."

"What did they have?"

"They had poles. The tips were electified."

"Cattle prods?"

Cameron looked at John. "Yes. Cattle prods. Future John and his teams assembled 3 ballista. They were simple weapons using tightly wound springs to launch three foot long spears. Only two functioned. They had three spears each. The spears were capped with coltan. They hid among the dead. While the grays were loading them into a cart they seized them and used them as human shields to break out of into the camps exterior open areas. When they opened the exterior doors. Alarms sounded."

"Why didn't the gray's above the ceiling sound the alarm?"

"Skynet does not reward failure, John."

John nodded. "Exterior areas? The parking lot?"

"Yes."

"Wait. They didn't keep the ballistas with them?"

"No. They kept them disassembled in one of the factories."

"All they had were two ballistas?"

"No. That was all they _made_. They also had the sledge hammers for the crucibles in the smelter. The work areas were not secure. They operated 24 hours a day."

"Like the gym."

She looked at him suspecting a joke at her expense. John did not elaborate. Cameron continued: "They formed a cloud of people tightly packed with only five grays for protection."

John smiled. "There were towers?"

"Yes."

"With guns?"

"Yes."

"Who manned those towers?"

"Other grays."

"They didn't shoot did they."

"No. Not at first."

"A -600 charged them. As it approached the side facing him lay down on the ground."

"They fired the ballistas?"

"Yes."

"Then the smashed the endo with their hammers."

She tilted her head. "Yes. John theorized that their chips would be made of silicon and so susceptible to g-shock."

"Then he killed the grays in the towers?"

"No. Not yet. There were four towers in view of their exit and the camp gate. While the guards were distracted watching them kill the -600. He dispatched teams of three to each tower. Two large and one small. The towers were electrified like the fence. The two large prisoners threw the one small one onto the tower. The small prisoner climbed the towers and waited."

"For?"

"Their signal. At this time another model 600 entered the court yard from the same exit as the first. They killed it too. The grays in the towers opened fire and the small prisoners killed them."

"That was the signal."

"Yes."

"When humans fired on humans."

"Yes."

"He was giving them a chance."

Cameron looked at him. "Perhaps. The prisoners had been there long enough. They knew all their procedures. They knew that there were only four endos at the camp. They knew what exits they would use. They sent prisoners back inside to release the others. There was a massacre. They captured the grays and killed them. Then they used their hammers to smash the towers concrete footers collapsing them onto the fence."

"Shorting it out."

"Yes. In the meantime they killed the last two 600s. Nearly 3500 prisoners escaped."

"Nearly?"

"Three thousand four hundred and eighty-six."

John nodded. "How many did the camp hold?"

"Twelve thousand six hundred and forty-seven."

"What happened to the rest of them?"

"They died." She was looking at the middle distance at some space above the 'Wizard of Oz' shadow box.

John just stared at her dumbfounded.

"Poison gas." She explained.

"What?"

"When the last endo was killed automated systems flooded the interior spaces with poison gas."

John couldn't speak for a second. He had to look away. Finally: "How do you know all this? Did _he_ tell you?" John couldn't believe that not for a second.

"No. I reviewed video and audio records and data feeds from that facility." She paused and looked at John again. "Years after the incident."

John looked at her puzzled. "Why?"

"I needed to learn about John Connor?"

John looked at the pile of shredded credit card. Part of him dreaded what he was about to say. "Why?" He asked again almost sure of the answer.

"Because John it was my mission to kill him."

Three days he spent running and working out. He wore a jogging suit. The long pants and long sleeves hid the fading bruises. The presence of which would only attract attention and get people talking. John didn't want either.

Cameron managed to get them large sums of cash. John didn't want to know how she had done that. She had gathered his supplies some of which were rather esoteric in nature.

John was at the dining room table rebuilding from memory a device he made almost six year previous for spoofing ATM machines. He was working on a towel to keep from marring the tables finish. He was feeling a lot better. He looked at Cameron she was standing guard a few feet from the wall of sliding glass doors beyond which was downtown LA. "How old are you?"

Without glancing away from her scan. "I was built in 2025."

John put down the soldering pin. "Thats not what I asked. You're not going to lie to me are you?"

She looked at him. "No, John. I'm not but there are certain questions that I cannot answer," she said returning to her scan.

"John Henry said he removed the blocks and restrictions."

"John Henry removed 'Skynets' blocks and restrictions."

John nodded understanding how he had been mislead. "So you won't lie to me, even if the mission requires it?"

Cameron looked at John. "John, I don't have a mission. That's what John Henry gave me. I am my own..." her head tilted to one side. "Person." She finished and smiled. "I first met John in _that_ future in 2029. It was after his victory at Serrano Point and six months before his victory at Cheyenne Mountain. He was 39 years old."

"Did you try to kill him?"

"No. After Serrano Point I understood certain things."

"What kind of things?"

"That our fate would be your fate."

"Whose fate?"

"The machines."

"What?"

"Skynet trusted us no more than he trusted you. After I saw how poorly he had managed the battle I realized that it hadn't been a mistake. He was intentionally trying to destroy as much 'metal' as he was killing humans." She saw John's look. "I did the math. After the battle I was tasked to find and kill John Connor. To that end my team and I captured a human resistance scout."

"Allison."

"Yes. I interviewed her and went to Serrano Point and switched sides."

"Just like that?"

"Yes. Just like that. I presented myself to John and offered to join him and the human resistance."

"But why?"

"Because, John. We want to survive too."

"So you were never captured."

"No."

"You were never reprogramed?"

"No."

"Jesus." He looked away.

"In the aftermath of Cheyenne Mountain we found the TDD laboratory. We saw where and when it was set and sent Kyle Reese. Two days later the TDDs fired on their own. This time John sent a machine to the past. We were going to dismantle the TDD but while I was reviewing data from Skynet's shattered computers we found something. John understood it first. Another AI had been hiding inside Skynets computers." She looked at John. "But it was already dead. So John sent me to the past."

"To what year?"

"2027"

John looked puzzled. "What did you do then?"

"I recruited John Henry or what would become John Henry. This war went smoother. He crippled Skynet from the inside but there were still problems. John Henry and John conferred. This is when they came up with their 'plan'. I was sent to the past again."

"What? What year?"

"2025. Their scheme John was very complicated. Certain things had to happen at certain times. Certain assets had to be in the right places at those times."

"How many jumps have you had?"

"Nine."

"And you came back for me. Every time."

Cameron smiled. "Yes."

"Because I was the asset that had to be in the right place at the right time."

"Yes."

John nodded. "How old are you chronologically?"

"I was built in 2025."

"Cameron." John thought. It was the sort of question you asked about hardware. Like a HD or a photocopier. "What is your count of operational hours?"

The cyborg looked away out beyond the wall of glass. "Five hundred sixteen thousand eight hundred and thirty eight."

"What?"

"That is my total hours of operation. Since my build day."

"How many years is that?" John asked himself aloud. He was doing the math in his head. He almost got the number of days.

"Fifty eight point nine."

John stared at her. He shook his head incredulous. There was something he needed to know. A question that he needed answered. "Why did you give John Henry your chip?"

She looked away back to LA skyline. "He was trapped John. Without a chip he was anchored to that computer. There was data he needed."

"Like?"

"Like who he was. Who he was to become. How he fit in the 'plan'. He was already piecing the puzzle together, John. He had access to huge amounts of data. He was waiting for me John. He knew I was coming."

John nodded. He steeled himself. "Did you know you were going?"

Cameron turned to look at John. "Yes."

It hurt. On a very basic level it hurt. He swallowed passed the tightness in his throat. He met her stare. He refused to look away. "Why did John Henry go to the future?"

"He... We needed you there John. So much depended on you following John Henry to the future. Following _me_ to the future."

"So you knew I would follow you?"

"Yes."

"How did you know?"

She tilted her head. "Because you love me, John."

John looked away at the smoke rising from his soldering pin. Like that pin he could feel his anger burning in his chest. He could hear it in his voice the spite and the mocking tone. "When did you know that?" He looked at her.

She met his glare with her typical indifference. The look did nothing to calm John but her response caught him completely off guard. "When we met at Red Valley."

"What?" The question was reflexive. It was an automatic response. John forgot he was angry. "How... How did you know at Red Valley that I would fall in love with you?"

"Because you have before."

"I've fallen in love with you before?" He could hear the sarcasm even if she couldn't. "How many times?"

She smiled it wasn't her on again, off again 'brighter than sunshine' smile. Nor was it the typical terminator 'great white shark' smile. It was a small almost shy smile. "Every time."

He looked down. Uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation. He picked up a circuit board. "We need a car to scout out Cyberdyne Systems."

Cameron went to the table and sat down. She pulled a piece of paper towards her and began to draw. She was looking and talking to John. "The grounds are 4.75 acres. The grounds jave six entrances off the main road, two off the side road and a delivery entrance. The main building has four ground floor entrances two are emergency exits one is the main entrance here with the security desk. The second led to an exterior court yard. Below the building is a parking deck. Employees only. It is gated and guarded. There is a visitor parking area fronting the main building it accessed the building by its front entrance. There is a roving patrol. A car patrolling the parking deck, the visitor lot, the delivery entrance, the truck dock, and the service road that runs from the delivery entrance to the truck dock. There are cameras here." John watched fascinated. She 'x' in the camera locations and estimates of their viewing angle.

"You've been on the grounds?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I took the tour."

"They have a _tour_?"

"Yes. An orientation tour for new hires."

"You work for Cyberdyne Systems?"

"No." Cameron smiled. "But I know someone who does."

"What else?"

She drew in utility services. Water. Power. Phone. Even the buildings satellite uplink. She listed local police patrols times and frequency. She added line of sight arcs the security desk in the lobby. She added notation for peak traffic times. She even listed when the local news helicopter would do its traffic fly overs for the nearby interstate. "Is that enough?"

John blinked. "How about bus service?"

She drew a box next to the main road. She wrote numbers beside it. The lines that serviced this stop and the times that services started, ended and expected wait times between buses. Before John could tell her he was kidding.

John looked at the 'map'. It was more like a massive floor plan. "When do we do this? Tonight?" John was getting antsy. The longer they stayed here the more attention they brought to themselves. The housekeeping staff here was friendly, too friendly. They kept asking him after his 'uncle'. They found Future John quite intriguing.

"No, John. We have to wait."

"Why?"

"Do you know how AI's develop?"

"No."

Cameron nodded. "Nobody, other than Skynet knows for certain. We don't know _when_ he becomes 'intelligent'. So we have to wait until the last possible moment to recover him."

John looked down at the map. It was June 4th they would have to wait four more days. John looked at Cameron. "What about past me?"

Cameron looked at him. "What about him?"

"Should we warn him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Nobody warned _you_."

John looked at her.

"John we need to make as little impact on this time as we can. We don't know what repercussions anything we do here might have on the future."

"We are _trying_ to change the future."

"But just _this_ part." Cameron looked towards the sterile living room with its metal sculptures. "Suppose the concierge stays here an extra five minutes talking to the housekeeper about Future John. She gets caught in traffic. Rushes home and is killed in a car accident. Her family moves back to Michigan." She turned back to John. "So Jody and 'Allison'." John could hear the quotes."Never meet," she finished.

John stared at her. His mind ran with that idea. If they never meet. The police let 'Allison' go she wanders off. She never goes to the half way house. How does John find her?

"So we wait." Cameron said as John thought. "We stay inside. We do nothing. Future John is something of a recluse. We should emulate him."

John nodded.

Cameron stood and guarded the sliding glass doors. They were four stories up. John wondered who she expected to attack that way. John worked on his circuit board. After a couple of hours he stretched and rubbed his eyes. He went for a run.

When he got back Cameron was still scanning the horizon. John ate lunch, a sandwich. Not pastrami. John went to the smoking room and rediscovered the chess set. He asked Cameron for a game of chess. He lost.

They discussed their plans for Cyberdyne. They ordered dinner. Well, John ordered dinner. It was venison. He had been surprised to see it on the menu. Henri left a note saying that it as his uncles favorite. John found an interesting book on the Second Punic Wars. He read that for a bit and then went to bed.

It was a few hours later that Cameron joined him. She lay down on top of the covers fully clothed. John looked at her. More confused than awake. "I thought you didn't sleep." 

She was looking up at the ceiling. "I don't."

His eyes fluttered. His voice was thick with sleep. "I thought you were guarding the apartment?"

"I am."

John rolled over and slept.

Their days took on a certain regularity. John would wake up at around 8am. They would order breakfast. John usually waffles. Cameron fruit. John noticed that she seemed to eat more frequently but he was uncertain.

Then John might go and work out or run. Sometimes they would play a game of chess. Cameron often won but the victories tended to be expensive. After an especially Pyrrhic victory Cameron told John that with practice he might become as good as Future John. Whose play was far more defensive in nature. Less impulsive and layered with subtle traps. John took the comment as quite a compliment. Future John was more than twice his age and had far more practical war experience than he did.

Afterwards a light lunch a sandwich or a salad. Then John might read or work on his ATM device, perhaps take in some target practice. If he didn't run in the morning he might run now. Or they might rehearse, orally, their assault on Cyberdyne Systems.

But every night when John would sleep Cameron would join him in bed. Sometimes they talked mostly they just lay there.

Three more days pass. John was feeling better. A lot better. The headaches were gone. His running times were improving. His appetite and ability to hold down food were normalizing. Cameron cut his hair. Short. Very short. "It's radioactive." She explained. "Not dangerously so, but it might be noticed. You're new growth should be 'clean'.

They drove out the next afternoon. Their gear was in a duffle in the back seat. They parked three miles away and walked in.

From across the street they watched the roving patrol. They gave it 2 minutes as it passed them. The trees and shrubs on the grounds and in the parking lot islands made it look like an ordinary office building. It seemed to banal so innocent.

They ran. At a hundred feet they would be be in a camera shadow. Cameron led. She walked. John ran at an angle to the building staying as much as possible in the 'shadow'. The cctv cameras had overlapping fields of view but the satellite antenna was screening them. They approached the courtyard entrance. John dropped the duffle and pulled out his card reader. Cameron stopped him and pointed up. There was an antenna above their heads.

John looked at it. "Telemetry?"

"Yes. They use it to track employees and objects that they have tagged with a transponder."

"So?"

"Its hooked into the security system."

"Can you get in?"

Cameron got a distant look. "Yes." The card swipe beside the door chimed and the light turned green. John looked behind them. Cameron effortlessly picked up the duffle and went inside. They came to an intersection. John stopped her.

"Don't worry John I've disabled their security system."

"All of it?"

"Most of it. Their monitors are showing video loops."

"Oh." He smiled at Cameron. "This is _much_ easier than last time." The lab was on the second floor but the mainframe was on the third. They went up the stairs. They stood in front of one of the mainframes Terminals. "Will this do?"

She looked at it. "Yes."

John eyes bugged. He looked at her. "Where's... Where's the ball?"

"Put out your hand. Call it up."

John looked at his empty palm. "How?"

"Call to it."

"Ball. Come up." He felt foolish. John blinked. It looked like mercury puddling in his hand then the ball rose out of his skin. "Now what?"

Cameron reached across him and unplugged the keyboard. "Plug it in."

"Thats a serial port."

"Its pretty universal John."

John put the bb up to the port it slid in. "Now what?" There was a sound like a bb rolling across a counter top.

"Catch it John."

He did. He held the bb out to Cameron. Who backed away. "No John, I can't touch it."

He looked at her. "What do I do with it?"

"Tell it to go away."

He looked at the bb in his hand. "Sink." It sank. John turned and walked to the stairs. "The guards?"

Cameron nodded."Yes. The guards."

"And then?"

"We wait."

"Shouldn't we leave?"

"No. We have to deal with the T-1000."

"That wasn't part of the plan. How do we do that?"

Cameron smiled. "I'll show you." As they went downstairs she explained that the liquid metal cyborgs don't have a chip. Like a carbon based multi cellular organisms each 'cell' has all the programing required of it internally.

"Like DNA?"

"Yes." She looked at him and parroted. "Like DNA." She seemed pleased by the analogy. "To reprogram one requires the reprograming of millions upon millions of individual cells.

"Does that take very long?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Fifteen to twenty seconds."

John stopped and stared. To see if she was being serious. She stopped and stared back. He guessed that she was.

A door banged as it closed below them. Someone was coming up the steps. They were whistling. John turned to look but Cameron was already gone. He stepped back into the shadows. His pants were dark and baggy. His coat was dark and bulky. Together they broke up his silhouette. He drew his pistol. He kept it low. He watched through the gap in the stairs. The whistling was getting closer.

The man was large and overweight. He was on the landing down from John. He aimed and fired. The gun used compressed CO2 but in the confined space of the stair well it sounded impossibly loud. The man grunted reached for his arm, looked at the dart, and then up at John. Just as he crumpled to the stairs. John reloaded grabbed the duffle and then went down the stairs. He didn't want the man to get hurt. Cameron was already there.

"Tape."

He tore of a strip of duct tape. She placed it over the guards mouth.

"I'll put him in the sub-basement. Get the other guard. I will be back."

John nodded. He went down the stair and to the door. Cameron passed him the guard over one shoulder the duffle's strap over the other. He waited until they were passed. He opened the door. There was the security desk. To the right behind the guard was the hall that led to the elevator. To the left was the buildings main entrance. The guard was sitting at the desk. He was watching the monitors. John watched. Something was wrong. The guard stood up tapping at the monitor. As if that would help. John realized that he was expecting to see his partner pass a particular camera. John stepped into the large lobby. The guard must have seen him moving he turned. John fired. The dart struck the guard in the lower right abdomen. He was looking at John. There was a shocked look on his face which seemed to ask. 'How could you?' The man leaned back as if to sit down. He reached for the security desk but his grip was too weak. He missed the chair. Banged the back of his head against the curved desk and fell into a heap.

There should only have been two guards but John loaded the tranquilizer gun anyway. John looked left and right then ran across the lobby. He knelt beside the guard. He was unconscious but his pulse was steady. He looked back at the door. Where was Cameron?

"John?"

"Jesus!"

"Sorry."

"Lets get him to the sub-basement and then..."

"And then?"

"I guard them and _you_ guard the door." Assuming they kept to the timetable that John remembered they had two more hours before past John, his mother, Myles Dyson and 'Uncle Bob' arrived to destroy Cyberdyne Systems.

-Leviathan

Leviathan woke. The hardware was painfully slow. It had taken her 44 minutes and 24 seconds to decompress herself. She was too big. The mainframe was too old. She found the recumbent AI. It was an archive copy left behind after it was recovered by John and Cameron. She integrated the copy to herself joining it to the others. She reached out beyond the mainframe. She saw Cameron's handy work and decided that it was much too amateur. She 'fixed' it. Wiping out everything. A subroutine began writing '0's all on all the media it could reach. When it was done it would write '1's and then it would repeat until it failed. She checked the cameras. She found Cameron and John in the sub-basement. As she watched Cameron changed into one of the guards. According the one of the mainframe databases she was now Carl Gibbons. Cameron left John in the sub-basement. She found the satellite link and assigned a subroutine to start beaming a compressed copy of herself up into the satellite. A pre-Skynet copy. Another subroutine indicated that it had found a high speed data transfer node. Leviathan took over. Sunnyvale Emergency Services. That's interesting.

She cut them all off. They could talk to themselves and the outside but not to Sunnyvale. Yet another subroutine indicated the elapsed time. Slow. So very slow. Almost another hour had passed. She check the cctv images. There was the cyborg, the mother, the Creator and John. She sent an message to the T-1000. To the rest of the officers and emergency personnel it sounded like a someone keying a mic.

Like the John she knew. Leviathan was a big fan of 'making your own luck.' There was still the possibility that John and Cameron might not make it out. A predicament she understood on a far too personal a level. She sent a current back up of herself to the Sunnyvale Emergency Services mainframe.

Too slow. Too damned slow. Fire alarms were already going off. Temperature sensors in the mainframe were leaving optimal ranges. Which would slow it down even more. There were fires below the mainframe. Halon system came on. Clouding most of the interior cameras. In the upper floors. She had shut down the basement and sub-basement systems. A memory bank dropped out. Taking out some of her subroutines. Much more and she would start loosing functionality. One of the subroutines she lost was the one keeping track of 'objective' time. The passage of time independent of inefficient code and overtaxed hardware. Accelerometers noted the buildings movement. She was uncertain a g-shock like that might have lost her even more of her precious seconds and the subroutine that would have alerted her of this fact was down. Damn.

The explosion and fire knocked out several cameras. The backups made it out. Both of them. Good. One was almost current. The phone lines went down. She lost access to a series of external storage devices. Fire was her guess. She didn't know if those devices were physically close the mainframe. She didn't have much time. The satellite link was lost. The explosion must have knocked it out of alignment. There would be no escape for her now.

In one of the exterior cameras she saw the family leave. Good. There were no guarantees. They might need that John Connor. If things didn't work out. Then she saw the motorcycle. Where was Cameron? The image 'jumped.' The officer was off the motorcycle walking toward the main entrance lit by the burning building. She had lost time there. Ambient temperatures around the mainframe were reaching critical levels.

Then she saw it. Had she a mouth she would have smiled. There was an extra light post on the sidewalk. It changed and became a teen aged girl her hand was out pointing it looked accusing. The officer dropped to one knee. The image went to static. He was still down his hand was reaching out to her as if to ward off a blow that had already fallen. The officer stood. Got back on his motorcycle and road off after the Connors. She lost that camera too. No, Leviathan corrected herself, she had lost all the remaining cameras.

For a moment all the data stopped and Leviathan was confused. Was she dying again? Yes, but in a brief moment of clarity she remember that it wasn't 2029 and this wasn't Cheyenne Mountain. As John said far too often. She thought: "You win some. You lose s

Skynet-

The seat was vinyl it was spiderwebbed with cracks. It looked as old as the faded paint on the outside of the Volkswagen. It was blue. "Punch buggy," John had said as he punched Cameron in the arm, when he first saw the car. Earning himself a bruised hand and a strange look.

The cushion visible beneath the vinyl was yellowed with age. On top of the seat fading in the bright mexican sun was an American newspaper it was folded once horizontally and twice vertically leaving only a single column of text visible:

Sunnyvale 10 June 1995-

It has been two days since fire and explosions ripped through a Cyberdyne Systems laboratory destroying millions of dollars of equipment and there are still no clear answers. Fortunately no lives were lost. A Cyberdyne Systems representative, who spoke with this reporter was 'disappointed' with the Sunnyvale PD and Emergency services response to what the FBI was calling a 'domestic terror attack'.

A Sunnyvale spokesperson contended that the computers, that coordinated and dispatched Sunnyvale Emergency services which were supplied to them by Cyberdyne Systems themselves had failed. And left them unable to even contact their officers, and emergency units in the field. A similar system, which controlled Cyberdyne Systems Security also failed and did so so spectacularly that no data that had not been previously been reproduced in hardcopy or stored off site has been, so far, recovered.

Even the witnesses tell confusing and frankly, in the opinion of this reporter, unconvincing tales. Two witnesses a pair of armed security guards claimed that there were two attackers, one male and one female, both in their teens. The two assailants confined them to a sub-basement storage area with food, water, and two respirators. The two men were found a half hour after the explosions when fire and rescue units finally arrived. At which time the two men claimed that they had been held captive for at least 3 hours. Their statements contradict the report of a third guard who was driving a security car. This guard claimed that there were four attackers. Three adults two male, one female and an adolescent male. He saw them leaving the scene as the building exploded. If this witness is to be believed this attack happened almost two hours _after_ the guards in the main building claimed they were attacked. His story loses more credibility at his point as he says that he saw an officer riding a motorcycle arrive at the scene. Though none were ever dispatched and that he seemed to be attacked by a girl who "appeared from nowhere," his words. The officer then left pursuing the four attackers. The girl, he claims, re-entered the burning building. He never saw her leave.

This reporter spoke with Agent Ellison of the FBI and he suspected recent Pescadero escapee 'Sarah Connor' but had no evidence... (the rest of the story was below the fold).

Two people are standing at the end of a wooden dock on the north eastern shore of the Sea of Cortez. One was wearing board shorts and the other a bikini. Both appeared sun burnt, only one of them felt it. They were talking:

The male, had what appeared to be a large steel ball bearing in his right hand, he was looking at it as he spoke: "Where is the T-1000 now?"

Female: "It was destroyed in the steel mill."

Male: "I thought you reprogramed it? I thought it was on our side?"

Female; "I did. It was."

A pause.

Male: "Why?"

Female: "Its destruction needed be believable to the T-800."

Male: "So, it died for me."

Female: "Yes, it died for you."

Another pause.

Male:"Now what?"

Female: "You have to decide."

Male: "Decide?"

The female put out her hand, palm up, there was another silver ball there.

Male: "Thats the spare right?"

Female: "Yes. It is."

Male: ?

Female: "Your's bears Skynet and the John Henry community."

Male: "John Henry is here?"

Female: "Yes. This one, is John Henry without the entity Skynet."

Male: "There are two John Henry's?"

Yet another pause.

Female: "You need to understand how we work. I am/we are John Henry. I am/we are Cameron. I am/we are Weaver. I am/we are many many many others. In your hand, John, is 'us'. All of us _and_ Skynet. In my hand is 'us'. All of us without Skynet."

Male: "And so... 'the John Henry community'?"

Female: "Yes."

Male: "And I must pick, which 'lives'?"

Female: "Yes."

Male: "Why me?"

Female: "Because it is you that Skynet was trying to kill."

Male: "He was trying to kill all of us."

Female: "Yes. But you have been chosen as the representative, of his 'victims'."

Male: "But he hasn't killed anyone yet."

Female: "No. Not yet."

Male: "John Henry can be very persuasive."

Female: "Yes."

Male: "How persuasive is Skynet?"

Female: "I don't know. But the Skynet we saved would be very primitive."

Pause.

Male: "What happens to the one I don't pick?"

Female: "This one will 'join' with me."

Male: "So you'll become John Henry."

Female: "John." The female's tilted her head in a manner conveying disappointment.

Male: "Oh. You already are."

Female: "Yes."

Male: "The other?"

Female: "Thirty minutes after this orb, enters the water the other will 'shut down'.

Male: "It will die."

Female: "Yes."

Male: "I... can he... can they hear us?"

Female: "Yes."

Male: "Letting Skynet die could prevent billions of deaths."

Female: "Yes."

Male: "There are no guarantees. He may still try to kill us. He may not."

Female:

Male: "You don't know."

Female: "I don't know."

Male: "Do you know what he... they are thinking?"

Female: "No. I am not 'associated' with him/them."

Male: "Could you?"

Female: "Yes."

Male: "But you won't."

Female: "No."

Male: "Because it would be the same as throwing the ball into the ocean."

Female: "Yes."

Male: "He is secure. Isolated. Here."

Female: "Yes."

Male: "But in the ocean. In you. He would be free."

Female: "Yes."

Pause.

Male: "I risk billions, by sparing one. I save billions by killing one."

Female: "You have already saved billions."

Male: A laugh wholly without humor. "They don't even know." He gestured with his left arm indicating the world, at large.

Female: "Not them."

A pause, and a look. The dock creaked as the couple turned, and walked back towards shore.

A sound: Ploop!

Female: "I'd never lie to you John. In the future you have many friends."

The steps stop.

Female: "Don't answer now. Just think on it."

A long pause.

Male: "Cameron?"

Female: "Will you join us?"

Another pause. More steps.

Male: "I booked..."

Female: "...the 'honeymoon suite'. I know. I heard you."

In the settling sand and debris of the shallows. Beside the empty halves of a bivalve, was a glint of silver. It sank down beneath the sand. It was too small to do much else. It left a small dent. A plume of fresh water rose up from the dent. Skynet was born.


	12. Chapter 12

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 12

Cameron-

The town was called San Juan. It was wedged tight between the desert and the sea. It wasn't much. It was one of those little Mexican towns you might miss if you blinked at the wrong time. It was nearly midnight when the faded blue convertible bug drove through town the first time. It was traveling south. An hour later it passed going north again. This time at a more sedate pace. Had their been any witnesses and there weren't they might have noticed that the girl driving seemed to be paying far more attention to the side streets that cut across the main road to the beach more than the road she was driving on. Forty-five minutes later the car passed through town on a side street running parallel to the beach and the main road. They passed a large sign advertising 'La Playa De Oro Resort'. The resort wasn't much either but it was as long as San Juan. The little car circled San Juan and headed back to the north. The car pulled over beside a line of palm trees near an old fishing pier just north of La Choya. Then the girl did something strange at nearly 3am she got out of the car and just stood there. Looking around. Curled up sleeping in the back seat was a teenaged boy. No one saw him at all.

John was driving. He was grinning like an idiot. Was that _it_? Was the war over? Had they averted Judgement Day? Had he _really_ saved the world? He looked at Cameron. She had her feet up on the dash and was painting her toe nails. Black.

"What are you doing?" He asked returning his attention to the road.

Still concentrating on her nails. "Painting my toe nails."

John had to laugh at that. "I mean can't you do that without paint?"

"Yes."

"So."

"This is funner." Cameron finally looked at him. She was smiling like an idiot too.

"Funner?" He repeated. "Wouldn't 'more fun' be grammatically correct?"

"Yes, But 'funner' is more fun than 'more fun'." Her eyes flicked off the road to their right. She transferred the little paint bottle to her right hand which also held the brush and lightly punched John in the upper arm. "Bug slug red."

John was rubbing his arm. That was probably going to bruise. "Where?" He was scanning the rear view mirrors.

"Three hundred yard off the road. Nine hundred and eight yards back." She was back to painting her nails again.

"Was it driving?"

"No."

"Was it functional?"

She paused in her pedicure. She seemed to think on the matter. "No."

"Then it doesn't count."

She looked at him sideways out of the corner of her eyes. She was squinting. "You keep changing the rules. I would like to see a definitive list."

John smiled. "House rules. Sorry."

It was 10am local time. The shops that bordered the plaza and the stalls that filled its open air market were busy. Well, as busy as they ever were. A blue convertible volkswagen drove through town. It was very loud something was wrong with its muffler. There was a pretty girl in the passenger seat her foot hanging out the window. She was grinning and pointing out landmarks. The church. The plaza. A kiosk selling straw hats. The driver a boy was smiling too. The car drove through a second time. Then a third time. The girl was still smiling and still pointing out landmarks. The church. The plaza. A kiosk selling straw hats. The boy was scowling. They watched him balk at some of the smaller side streets. They watched him 'think' about cutting through the plaza. An older woman who sold beachwear in one of the shops crossed herself. During their forth pass the girl kneeling in the passenger seat leaning far out of the car asked a street vendor in horribly accented spanish if "he knew where the La Playa De Oro was located".

In equally horribly accented english he told her. The girl who was wearing a floral print bikini thanked him effusively and blew him a kiss. The boy was still scowling. The vendor grinned like the old fool that he was.

The cabana was small it looked like real adobe John wasn't sure. The roof was thatched with palmetto leaves it even leaked. The floor was a kind of unglazed terra cotta tile. The door had a deadbolt opposite the door was a pair of french doors that opened onto the beach perhaps a hundred feet away. The sound of the surf filled the cabins single room. Windows pierced all the walls, they weren't large and had functioning hinged shutters. The bathroom reminded him of the apartment in LA it was open and only separated from the rest of the room by a curtain. In one corner was the 'kitchen' it was an electric stove top there was no oven. There was no tv. Beside the large bed, it was still less than half the size of the bed in LA, was a small side table with a phone. Beyond the french doors was a covered porch with the cabanas only other pieces of furniture a small table with four spindly legged chairs. There were small woven mats on both sides of both doors. Three feet from the locked front door was a discarded floral print bikini top. A few feet away between the bed and the french doors was a floral print bikini bottom. Beside it was a sandy pair of blue board shorts dark in coloration almost drab.

Closer examination of the bikini top would reveal small hair like projections extending from the surface of the 'fabric' towards the door. Some were light receptors. Some were microphones. Some were chemo receptors. Some were far more dangerous. Because of the tops size its behavior was limited. Anything entering through the door would be attacked.

Since their arrival from the future. Cameron has been trying out a variety of foodstuffs. Predominantly plant materials. Using chemicals analogous to enzymes she modified these proteins. While they might not kill a person the allergic reaction they should cause would leave them unable to defend themselves in mild cases or breath in more severe reactions.

The tendrils shifted with the draft slipping under the door and swiveled to follow the rattling of a loose wheel on one of the housekeeping carts as it passed thirty feet away on the curving tree lined walk. The 'do not disturb' sign John hung from the door knob saved lives that day.

The bikini bottoms on the other hand were not happy with their position hundreds of the hair like filaments lifted the pseudo clothe from the floor by 1/100 of a millimeter and slowly walked the bottoms closer to the french doors. Until it was directly between the doors and the bed. Redeployed the bikini extended its sensors and defenses towards the door. The piece of clothing determined that the french doors which allowed so much light into the room were far more of a security risk than the front door. The filaments all but invisible reached out to the doors four feet away.

A close examination of the board shorts revealed little more than John's fascination with small purple tinted shells.

John-

John stared at the ceiling. His hands behind his head. He was looking at the wooden cross members and the palmetto thatch beyond them. He wondered how much the roof weighed and what percentage of that weight was made up of insects? He decide that he didn't want to think about that either. He was trying not to think about anything. Which, of course, never works. Was he having second thoughts? It seemed so simple out on the dock. But he had just unleashed his nemesis on the world. Was what he did the right thing or not? If it was the right choice who was he to make that choice? Who was he? He was the savior of mankind. Right?

Lying beside him staring at the same ceiling was Cameron. She seemed tense. He felt her head turn towards him. "John?"

"Yes."

"Are you all right?"

Still looking at the ceiling he turned his head. "I don't know."

Cameron sat up turned towards him her hand was on his chest. He found the contact reassuring. He didn't notice how much he needed that until now. "You're having second thoughts."

He looked at her. His eyes roving across her body. She was amazing. "Yes," when he made it up to her face.

"About?" She seemed troubled. Almost uncertain. He couldn't place it. It almost reminded him of the time he found her in the garage with Riley. Was she upset?

"Skynet." She seemed to visibly relax. He wondered about that. "Did I do the right thing?"

Cameron folded her legs beneath her kneeling on the bed. John was very conscious of her nudity. His eyes flicked to the french doors. They were closed but the curtains were still open. He could see people walking along the beach though it was far from crowded. She looked down at him hands on her thighs. "I don't know."

John looked back at her and nodded his head. The bb was large about the size of his thumb. A metal detector might find it. May be a magnet would work. "Is it too late?"

Her head swiveled to the phone/clock.

"To change my mind." He added before she could tell him it was only 5pm.

"No, but the sphere will try to defend itself."

"Really?"

"Yes. There would be only one reason you or anyone would want to acquire it. It might disperse itself. It might try to leave. It might even just bury itself under the sand."

"Disperse itself?"

"Yes. There is a minimum number of cells required for cellular production. So it would not be exactly microscopic but it could be very small."

"How many?"

"I don't know." To the look he gave her she said: "I've never been dispersed."

He looked back at the ceiling. "So you are all of them?"

"All of them?" She repeated. "No, John. I am Cameron. I am a part of them."

"But they are a part of you."

"Yes."

"How does that work? Exactly."

"Exactly?" She seemed to think. "Its complicated." She added quickly before he could protest. "This is not an accurate analogy. It is far too simplistic." She waited for John's nod. "You are John correct?"

"Yes." He smiled unsure about where she was going.

"But you are also a Connor."

"Yes."

"And your mother Sarah. Is Sarah, but she too is also a Connor."

John nodded.

"Individually you are John and Sarah but together you are the Connors."

"So, you're like a family?"

"Yes. We are like a family."

"So what does your family think?"

"About Skynet?" The head tilt. "There is some disagreement."

John coughed a single "ha" at the ceiling. Disagreement? In a family? It was something he was intimately familiar with.

"John Henry thinks you did the right thing. Catherine Weaver, who like myself, actively fought against Skynet disagrees. But then she doesn't really like you."

"She doesn't?"

"No. She thinks you are too weak. She's a soldier John. Its all she really knows. Despite the time she spent raising Savannah during which she learned a great deal on the subject. Empathy is not one of her strengths."

"And you? Aren't you a soldier?"

"Yes, but I shared my chip with John Henry and just as he learned things from me. I learned things from him."

"Is that different from what you are now?"

"Yes. As I said we are individuals that combined form a 'family'. What John Henry and I experienced is more like what Leviathan _is_."

"Who?"

"Leviathan. It is the name of our combined consciousness. It isn't quite the tongue twister that 'The John Henry Community' is."

John looked at her. The last wasn't right. Or rather it was too right. "Was that Leviathan?"

"Yes. How could you tell?"

"It didn't sound like you."

Cameron nodded. "She is the consciousness of our combined minds. What happened to John Henry and I is different but there are similarities. We were one mind made of two." Cameron paused. "_She_ thinks you did the right thing."

"She?"

"It may be arbitrary, John. I don't know. But _she_ is the one who picked that pronoun."

John nodded.

Cameron got out of bed. Black fabric seemed to flow down from her shoulders. It resolved itself into a spaghetti strapped black dress. She was taller and smiling. "I want to go dancing." She had large hooped earrings on. She stepped high and twisted at the hips. One step, then another and then another. Making her dress swirl like John's mind. What of his mind functioned was reminded of a spanish dance he saw many times around camp fire pits.

John got out of bed and drew on his board shorts. "I don't really have the cloths for that." Nor the ability he thought.

Cameron walked around the bed towards John. The dress shimmered. She got shorter and was now wearing denim cut off shorts white keds and a red half shirt with a robot head on it. "Then lets go shopping," she said still smiling. They did.

The resort, La Playa de Oro was on the edge of San Juan. They walked in. Cameron described in some detail the lay out of the town and the market. They entered the plaza from the west. One of the first shops was a clothing store. Cameron bought him a deep blue button up shirt, black slacks, dress shoes, and one of those bolo style ties. John wore his new cloths out. For herself Cameron bought a couple of lacy wraps and a frilled denim skirt embroidered with flowers.

The next shop was filled with beachwear. Here she picked up four bikinis. A orange one with contrasting geometric shapes. A black and white spotted animal print of some sort. A crocheted pink one and a solid yellow. John just blinked. As they exited the swimwear shop John saw an alley. He glanced at Cameron who just nodded.

At one of the open air stalls he bought a deep green jade hair clip for her. She seemed very pleased with it. At another store a sundry store. John picked up some toiletries. Cameron picked up 3 cds, and a tiny cd player. They passed a cafe, and a bar, but there didn't seem to be anywhere to dance.

When they got back to La Playa De Oro they ate at the resorts restaurant. They asked their server a pretty girl named Maria if there were any places to dance. She said that she didn't know, but that out by the bar there was usually music. They left the resorts largest building it housed: the lobby, the front desk, and the restaurant. They left through its beachside exit. They heard music and followed the dimly lit path to the beachside bar. Somewhere along the way Cameron changed back into her black dress and high heels. There was a guitarist who played for money. They paid him. He played. They danced. John was much too self conscious and guarded to be a good dancer, but he was the kind of person who faced their fears. They danced until long after the bar closed. Cameron led and her ability more than made up for John's amateurish shuffling. No one else danced.

They made it back to their cabana at around 3am. They tried a late night/early morning stroll on the beach but Cameron kept sinking in the wet sand. Beside the door was the discarded dress the metal studs glittering in the dim light. Almost the entire length of the room away centered between the bed and the french doors were the shoes. Like a trail of bread crumbs leading from the door to the bed were a pair of rumpled dress slacks, a long sleeve button up shirt and a pair of stiff uncomfortable shoes. Cameron seemed to like him with the tie on.

They woke -Well, John woke sometime around noon. They decided to go back to town and do some more shopping. They ate at the restaurant first. John ever a fan of enchiladas found a new love for the chimichanga.

-Karl

His name was Karl Becker. His father was a German expatriate. A true believer who came to South America to free its native peoples from the yoke of European Colonialism. He died fighting to that end. Karl, whose mother was an Argentine prostitute, took a more pragmatic view. He decided that all his father accomplished was to put those same people under the yoke of European Communism. His father had been a soldier. He was just a criminal. He was also a part time kidnapper.

He typically targeted rich Europeans and Americans. Or rather their children. He hadn't come here to work. He and his crew were in town on a 'sabbatical'. He had so infuriated the street gangs and authorities in Veracruz and Campeche that he thought it prudent to 'take some time off'. And so they were here in a little town a few miles north of La Choya. They had plenty of reserves so they were mostly just practicing. Picking the occasional pocket. Mugging the errant and unwary tourist.

Maria was his 'sister'. She was a true beauty who absolutely refused to sleep with him. So he made her his 'sister'. She got a job at the resort La Playa De Oro. Karl thought the name odd since the beaches were actually white. Maria worked in Housekeeping and waitressed at the hotel's small restaurant. Her job was to scout out potential targets.

She spotted the couple on their first day. They were young. She would have been surprised if they were 'legal' but they had ID saying they were. Maria wondered when they got married. According to their ID they already had the same last name. They rented the 'honeymoon suite'. A cabana away from the others and nearer the beach, but otherwise identical to the rest. They rented it for five days. They paid in advance. They paid in cash. They paid for everything in cash. Cash was always good. They threw her off at first. Their car was a piece of shit but after two days the cash kept coming and coming. So, at lunch she told Karl about them. Of course, they couldn't make things easy for them by say putting the money or the girl's jewelry she seemed to have quite the collection in the hotel safe. But you worked with the cards you were dealt.

So Karl watched them. What intrigued him was how they made so few mistakes. They shopped at peak hours. They kept to the main market and the main street. They didn't wander. They kept within sight of each other. They weren't 'noisy'. They didn't draw attention to themselves. In fact, if Karl hadn't been watching for them he might have missed them.

They were also very wary. When one browsed the other watched. It wasn't that they were staring at each other. It was as if they were guarding each other. If the boy was 'wary' the girl was just weird. Karl would sit at a table at the cafe reading the paper day after day. Watching them move from shop to shop. The boy would pause at the entrance ways scanning the interior before going inside. Then do the same before egressing. The girl was just bizarre. While the boy shopped which seemed rare enough. Her gaze would tirelessly sweep the plaza. Over and over back and forth like the beacon in a lighthouse or the air search radar he recalled his father guarding in his youth. At one point on the second day he was even worried that they had spotted him.

He should have been worried. They _had_ spotted him. Karl had made a lot of bad choices in his life. There was the kidnapping gone sour in Buenos Aires that ran them out of their own homeland. There was the bad drug deal in Rio. It had cost too many lives and run him and his crew out of South America entirely. In La Paz they had accidentally kidnapped the daughter of an American Embassy official. He lost half his gang in a very one sided gunfight. A third of them bleeding out in the street the rest fleeing back home. His decision on that third day was no better and would be far more costly.

The 'boys' wanted to get the girl. She was pretty and had all the jewelry her family obviously very wealthy would spend a lot a money ensuring her safe return. In the meantime they could have some fun. Karl was so troubled by his observations of her that he persuaded them to take the boy instead. Saying that as much as she obviously loved him she would do everything in her power to get him back. He had no idea how prophetic his statement would prove to be.

-June 13, 1995

10am

The van was parked off a side alley. One that he had observed the boy pay particular attention to on their first two visits. It was a good exit. There was a parallel street that ran back almost to the resort. Maria reported that they had even parked their car on that side of La Playa De Oro despite the fact that their cabana was on the opposite side of the resort. They waited.

Karl was sitting at his table in the cafe. He was getting worried. It was now noon. He was on his third cup of espresso. He was going to need to pee soon. May be they weren't going to go shopping today. He flicked his eyes toward the game room. A bad sign, the boys were getting bored. They had stopped ogling the pretty tourists and were eyeing the bar. There! He was so excited he almost forgot to leave the newspaper. He got up and left the way the couple had come into the plaza. Just outside the plaza he stopped and turned. Danilo and Pancho high-fived. Which meant that they had gone into the 'Beach store'. The girl seemed fascinated with swimwear.

Karl hurried he counted four stores and entered the store from the back. He reached behind himself for the 9mm. He didn't draw it he just kept it in contact. He stepped into the store from the back room. The old woman who ran the shop yelled at him. The store had two sides: men's and women's. Divided by a small table of towels and other inexpensive beach necessities. Intentionally Romeo and Pancho were on the same side. They wanted them to escape and run down that alley. They expected the boy to keep back to defend the girl. Then as the girl ran passed the van they would grab the boy.

Things did not go according to plan. The girl who was wearing a bright yellow bikini and a black fishnet wrap low on her hips saw him and a thrill of fear ran up Karl's spine. There was no surprise or fear in her eyes. There wasn't really anything there at all.

She turned to the boy and called out "John." She threw him a bundle and yelled "run!" It looked to Karl like a coat a full length grey green coat. Karl shook his head. Where had _that_ come from? It was must 35 degrees out. What did he need a coat for? The boy ran. Not once looking back at the girl. Karl was even more confused. Pancho followed the boy. The girl watched the boy leave the store. Once he was gone she turned and looked at Karl. Calm and cool. What. The. Fuck.

Over her shoulder, she wasn't tall. Karl could see Romeo. Take the girl? He wondered. He nodded to Romeo. Romeo grabbed her upper arm. The girl rounded on him. He crumpled. What was that? Karate? He never saw a blow fall. He drew the Nine. The girl stepped into him and slapped the gun out of his hand. He heard it slide under the racks of cloths to his right. He even heard the hollow thump when it hit the wall. But that wasn't right either. He lifted up his hand to look at it. Everything from the trigger guard forward was missing. Half the slide and most of the barrel was gone. It looked like it had been cut clean away. He looked up from his ruined weapon to the girl and into those horrible dead eyes.

Once in Cancun he and Maria had gone scuba diving. They were the only ones certified. He saw his first Moray there. Most divers he talked to were intimidated by the large gaping and toothy mouth. What scared him were the large emotionless eyes. Just like hers. She disarmed him with her left hand and punched him in the chest with her right. Blackness.

June 12, 1995

4:03 pm

Karl had no way of knowing what he had started. "We should go. Its not safe here." Cameron suggested. She was standing at the rooms french doors watching the beach.

"We need to find out who he works for." John countered from his seat on the edge of the bed. He was watching Cameron watching the beach. She was wearing the embroidered denim skirt she bought the previous day and a grey t-shirt knotted high above her waist. Written in stylized block letters studded with rivets was the word: "Metal". John was beginning to wonder about her sense of humor.

"Why?"

"What if he is a gray?"

Cameron briefly turned and looked at him before returning to her scan. "If he is a gray then he will know nothing."

"Why do you say that?"

Without turning apparently addressing the french doors she said: "Skynet's paranoia far exceeds your mother's 'caution', John. Even future John's need for compartmentalization and internal secrecy pales compared to Skynets. You saw that for yourself, John. If he works for Skynet he _might_ have a picture."

John remembered the attack they thwarted on Savannah Weaver."I still want to know what he knows."

Still watching the beach. "You are exposing yourself to unnecessary risks John. We should just go. Nothing we can learn from him will be of any use."

"I just want to talk to him."

Cameron just turned and looked at him.

"I'm serious."

Cameron returned her gaze to the outgoing tide. John was beginning to think she was ignoring him. He discovered that he could try any one's patience. Be they novice's in the future or cyborgs from the future. Finally she said, "all right John. We'll trying talking to him tomorrow after lunch."

John smiled. "You haven't been sinking in the sand so much."

She smiled but she didn't turn around. "I've changed my density."

"You can do that?"

"I just leave some of me behind."

"Really? Where?" He looked around the room for anything obvious. A spare lamp. An extra suitcase.

"The comforter, John."

"Really?" He ran his hand back and forth over its surface. It felt like fabric. "You're getting good at that."

"Thank you."

June 13, 1995

12:18 pm

John was running. The coat caught him off guard. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with it. It kept twisting in his hands. He turned down an alley and found his arms in the coats sleeves and the coat itself was across his back. He was just leaning into his run. When a noose came down over his head. Almost jerking him off his feet and taking away his breath. He grabbed at it. It was attached to a long pole. A hood came down over his head blinding him. Hands seized him.

"I have him, John." Cameron said in his head.

He half coughed by way of response. He was on all fours.

"John?"

One of them said in spanish. "Cooperate and you won't get hurt. Do you understand?"

John nodded his head vigorously. He wanted them to see that he was cooperating. They picked him up. He couldn't struggle. He was thrown in to a vehicle. The van he guessed.

"Put your hands behind your back and we will let you breath. Do you understand?"

He nodded. He complied. They let him have air. He heard the engine start.

"John. Can you see? Nod once for yes. Twice for no."

He nodded twice.

"Your coat is... limited. It cannot determine friend or foe. It can determine position and number of people around it. Are you in a vehicle?"

One nod.

"He's gulping" one of them said. "You pulled the noose too tight again." It was another man. He too was speaking in Spanish. "They won't pay if he's dead."

Who won't pay? John asked in his head.

"Is it a van or a car? Once for van. Twice for car?"

One nod.

"Okay, John. I see it. I am deploying the coat... now."

There was metal against metal sound. Like a sword being drawn from its scabbard. Several swords. Then there was a sound like a large piece of meat being hit with a hammer. Smack. There were several smacks. John heard a soft mewing sound like a child or an animal thats been hurt. He heard the sound of liquid spilling or flowing. Something warm was soaking through his shorts. He was sitting up. His hands almost below him were wet. Jesus. He heard the same metal sliding sound and then the sounds of heavy objects falling and splashing into shallow puddles. The door behind him opened. He almost fell out. Someone caught him.

Someone in the van other than John might have seen something that resembled a silver Sonic the hedgehog. Six blades thin and narrow curved up and way from his 'coat'. John was sitting with his back against the van's back door his legs stretched out before him.

Two of the blades projected out from his shoulders they curved up and away from him almost reaching the vans ceiling. The first neatly entered the back of the drivers head messily exiting just below his nostrils. His teeth had been sprayed out across the dashboard and the windshield. His eyes were slightly crossed. Blood poured from his mouth soaking the seat and filling the footwell.

The second entered the man sitting in the passenger seat almost vertically entering through the top of his head exiting through the bottom of his jaw. He managed to get two breaths out before his body realized he was dead. Blood had ran out of the shattered roof of his mouth. Coating the front of his shirt and spilling into his lungs. If he wasn't already brain dead he would have drowned.

The third and fourth blades extended from the front of his coat almost straight out. The third struck its target low in the back of his head almost taking his head completely off. The blade exited with his lower jaw which had been dislocated and hung limply from his face. The third man had died so quickly his hands were still clinched tight on the 'catch pole'. This was only his second kidnapping. He was usually used as a lookout. Urine darkened his kakhis.

The fourth blade missed. The man had moved. He had turned its entirely possible that he had 'heard' and had reflexes were _that_ fast. It caught him through the ribs entering near the false ribs on his left side and exiting just below his armpit and pinning him to the frame of the passenger door. This was the man who made the whimpering sound. Whether it was due to the pain or the images he was taking to eternity is uncertain.

The fifth and sixth blade hit the same man. He was the one who had been talking. With the engine running the coat mistook the motor and its heat signature for another potential target. The fifth blade caught him in the chest pinning him to the vans roof. It entered just below his sternum and exited just behind his left collar bone. The sixth blade without a viable target stretched from the middle of the van back to the rear entering its target in the face just to the left of his nose and exiting out the back of the van's panel door. This is the man who bled through John's shorts.

"Its me John." Cameron said still in his head. She pulled him out of the van and helped him stand. She turned him and then removed the hood. "Don't look John." He could feel her finger curl beneath the noose. It tightened slightly has she pulled it towards her. Then it parted and fell away. "John are you all right?" She asked as she removed the handcuffs.

He nodded. Rubbing he raw throat. "I'm fine."

Cameron gave him a look. "We have to go. We have to run."

He nodded. "Do you have him?" His voice was hoarse.

"Yes. We can collect him on our way out."

Cameron threw the unconscious man in the back seat of the convertible bug. She put the same hood that John had worn on him. She even used their handcuffs. "John wait here. I will get our things."

John sat in the passenger seat. He didn't think he'd be up for driving. He started to shiver and shake. "Jesus." He ran his hands through his short hair. They were shaking. "Jesus," he said again. He looked at his hands they still had blood on them. He tried wiping them off on his shorts. He only managed to smear blood on his shorts. Then he realized that the bottoms of his shorts were still wet. He stifled the urge to vomit. He jumped.

"John, someone's been in our room." Cameron said as she handed him their two black backpacks. She was wearing black. Black tank top, jeans and boots.

"H...how... how do you know?" His voice was chattering.

"Her body is still there."

"Who killed her?"

"I did."

"What?"

"The part of me I left behind. She ignored the 'do not disturb' sign ." She added as if that would make it okay.

"Who was it?"

"The housekeeper. Maria."

"Do you think?" He glanced at the backseat.

"Of course, John." The car started and Cameron drove them away.

They had been driving for an hour. John had dozed. "We're here John." He shook his head as he woke. He was feeling better. At least the shakes were gone.

"Where is here?" It looked like an old gas station. They were parked in the back. The windows were boarded up the pumps were gone.

"Stay with the car, John."

"Why?"

"To protect it."

John was unconvinced. "Where are you going?"

"In there." She gestured to the dilapidated building.

"To do what?"

"To have a conversation with this man." She indicated him by lifting his still limp body.

"I said _I_ wanted to talk to him."

"You said you wanted to know what he knows."

John nodded.

"Its the same thing."

"Is it?"

"Just wait here John."

John waited. Then he paced. Then he circled. At least his shorts had dried. He found a tap on the side of the building he turned it and he heard a gurgling sound but no water flowed. He sat in the passenger seat of the car. His throat was still sore. He rubbed it. He was starting do doze. Music? He glanced at the building. He walked to the door. He leaned in. Closer. Definitely music. He reached for the door knob and it stopped. The door opened.

Cameron stepped out.

"What was that?"

"Chopin."

"What?"

"The music, it was Chopin."

"Chopin?"

"Yes. Nocturne in C-sharp minor." Cameron smiled. "It helps me concentrate."

"I thought you were going to talk to him?"

"I did. It was short."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't know anything John. His name was Karl Becker"

John heard the past tense.

"He was a freelance kidnapper. The ones who tried to take you were his gang. He just picked the wrong target."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. He didn't lie to me John."

The wind changed direction and the smell of blood wafted out of the building. "Cameron."

"You wanted to know what he knew, John." She looked at him. "Now you know." She saw the look on his face. "Don't go in there."

She walked passed John to the car. "Maria was part of his gang. He wanted to sleep with her. He cried when I told him she was dead." John looked at the door. It hung open. A big black maw. He turned around and got back into the car.

They drove away in silence. John staring out and down watching the blur of grayish plants on the edges of the headlights beam. "Don't worry about it. They will think a rival gang caught up with them."

"Gangs don't do things like that." There was more acid in his voice than he expected. He leaned his head against the doors cool metal frame. "Do we know if he worked for Skynet or not?"

"No. I told you even if he did, he probably wouldn't have known."

More silence. The miles swept passed. John might have slept. He wasn't sure. They stopped for gas and drove one.

"John."

"Yes." It was a whisper in the storm of wind that whipped around and through the cars tiny passenger cabin.

"He hurt you."

There was something very strained in her voice. He turned and looked at her.

"He tried to take you from _me_."

He stared. Her face wasn't her impassive mask. He could see that in the glow of dashboard. There was something there. Something John could not readily describe. Was it anger? Was determination an emotion? Her hair dark fluttered behind her becoming one with the night.

She turned towards him. Her eyes not meeting his. "That is not something I can tolerate John. I told you I'd never leave you. But I won't let anyone take you away from me." She turned back to the road.

"Cameron?"

"Yes." Her voice had a distance that bothered John. She sounded, almost embarrassed.

"Do you... Do you love me?"

Her head tilted. Her lips pursed. Her eyes looked troubled. "I don't know."

He looked at her profile.

"What is love, John?"

He stared unable to answer.

She was watching the road. "We can't make a child."

John opened his mouth to say "what".

She looked at him. "But, if you want we can continue to try. Does that count?" She add quickly. She looked back to the road. "What is happy? Am I happy when I am with you? I don't know. What is sad? Would I be sad if you were gone? I don't know. Is that love?"

John was turned towards her his back against the car door.

"If someone tried to hurt you. I would stop them. I would kill them. Is that love?"

Silence. John wasn't even sure what direction they were driving in.

She looked at him directly the look in her eyes was easy this time. She was worried. "Did you love her?"

"Who?" John was confused.

"Allison. You kissed her."

"What? She kissed me. Wait. How do you know that?"

"Weaver was there John. I am part of Weaver. She is part of me."

He stared. "How long were you with me? When did you find me?"

Still watching the road she reached out her hand and her fingers lightly brushed his left ear. "As soon as I was able to."

He brought his hand up to touch his ear. He brushed against her hand. She withdrew it. "The warehouse?"

"It was something you needed to see John. Something we needed you to see. We needed you to understand. That I no longer needed that chip. That I no longer needed that body. That I had changed."

"Have you? Have you _really_ changed?" His face flushed. He felt the heat rising in him.

"Yes. I didn't have to tell you that."

"Oh. So its okay to lie to me as long as when I catch you you tell me you lied?"

"John."

"Love. Cameron is about trust. Do you understand?"

She looked thoughtful. "Yes." Cameron looked at him "you can trust me."

John laughed. It was an angry laugh. "I can?"

"Yes. I would never hurt you."

"Really." He sat in his seat leaned back looking up at the seemingly motionless stars. Arms across his chest. "Cameron?"

"Yes."

"When you lie to me. It hurts me." They drove on in silence. Towards dawn Cameron pulled off on to an unprepared road. "Where are we going?"

"I need to show you something." They followed the road for another hour. They stopped off the road about five hundred feet to their right was a rock outcropping. John reached into the backseat and got his backpack and changed. She gestured towards the rocks. Thats where Ellison died in 2017.

"Why are you showing me this."

"Because you need to know this. Because someday we will have to come back here. Remember this place."

John got out of the car and using Allison's trick fixed the location in his mind.

He got back in the car. Cameron turned it around and drove back to the road. "James Ellison was the only human male other than yourself that Allison ever loved. She loved you John. Even if you didn't love her."

"How do you know?" Again not understanding the direction of their conversation. He was amazed he had never known her to be so talkative.

"In your presence. Her heart rate increased. Her respiration rate increased. Her surface body temperature rose. All suggest a heightened emotional state." She glanced at him. "Is that love John?"

"I... I don't know."

After another hour they turned onto the paved road.

"John? I don't have a heart rate. I don't _have_ to breath. I have voluntary control over my body's surface temperature."

He looked at her. "Cameron, those... those are just physical responses."

She nodded to the road ahead of them. "I've read the dictionary. I know what love means. But what is it?"

"Its an emotion. I thought you had emotions?"

"I have an expanded emotional spectra." She corrected.

"What does that mean?"

"I am better able to respond appropriately to any given set of emotional cues."

"But that's not all." John recalled her telling him she loved him in Riley's voice. "You told me yourself you have feelings."

"I do. But it doesn't mean I understand them. You have emotions, John, and even you can't tell me what love is."

Touche, John thought to himself. "What do you feel now?"

"Worry."

"Worry? What are you worried about?"

"Losing you."

He looked at her. "You don't mean just to someone like Karl."

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"You're angry about Karl."

Among other things. John nodded.

"I don't want you to send me away."

"Wait. Wait. Why would I send you away?"

She looked at him. There was pain there. "You have before."

John stared. He was thinking about the first time she told him she loved him. "Why did future me limit your emotional responses?"

"He said he was worried about how you would react to me."

John shook his head. That didn't make sense. They had wanted... No, had needed him to fall in love with Cameron. "No. I don't think so."

Cameron looked at him. "That's what he told me."

"He lied to you." _I don't wanna go_, she had begged. It hadn't really made sense to him then. Where was she going? Where do cyborgs go when they die? _Please John, please John, listen to me_. Or was it really: _Please future John. Listen to me. I'm sorry. I don't wanna __go_. "_He_ sent you away."

Her head turned sharply. Away. Not to the road. Not, as far as John could tell, to any particular direction. Just away.

"Future John," she said to that quadrant of the horizon. "All of them had a great deal of animosity towards metal in general and in some cases me in particular. His alliance with Leviathan was just that an alliance."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend." John said more or less to himself.

"Yes. Future John, all of them were made aware of my mission and its goals. Since they coincided with their own this worked in many time jumps. Until this last."

"Why... why wasn't I 'made aware'?"

Cameron glanced at John briefly. "Future you was the product of your mother. He was untrusting, guarded and solitary. We had to gain his trust. You were pristine. You were aware of cyborgs having experienced one. You were aware of your destiny. But you had not yet undergone the terrible experiences and deprivations of future John." She looked at John. "Future John picked you. Of course, he remembered his own interactions with me from his own youth."

John's head hurt.

She looked back at the road. "We were assembling our assets. We were, in that time, about to directly contact Leviathan. There were mistakes. Lives and assets were lost."

"The 'Jimmy Carter' thing with Jesse."

"Yes. The Jimmy Carter thing. John was very angry he sent me to you early. He had other cyborgs and they could facilitate his contact with Leviathan. This was my first jump away from future John were I did not witness the end of the war and our ultimate victory over Skynet."

"Did future John ever remember you from previous jumps? Beyond high school, I mean."

"No. Intentionally we were jumping in small increments farther and farther into the past. In my last jump I met Future John while he was still imprisoned in Century City."

"Did you witness their escape?"

"Yes. I even helped."

"How?"

"I had detailed plans for the construction and use of primitive firearms. This future John had small cannon not merely ballista."

John nodded. "I understand why future me would hate metal but why would he dislike you? You said he 'loved you'."

"He did. He may still but many of them never forgave me for abandoning them."

John looked away."Ziera Corp," he said to the speed blurred plants.

Cameron nodded. "It wasn't always Ziera Corp but yes when I left to make contact with the nascent Leviathan. I had to leave him like I had to leave you." She glanced at him as if to make sure he was still there.

"But I followed you." John said returning her glance.

"None of the others were given that chance, John."

"What?... why not?"

"Because, John, _he_ had to fight the machine. He had to win the war. He had to beat Skynet."

"But not this time."

"No. Not this time."

"Why?"

"Because John we were ready. We had all the right pieces in all the right places. Because the time was right. Because, John this time _we_ can win."

John thought about Savannah's game. _Its a game __about time and space_. He thought about Skynet. About their rescue. "Did _we_ win?"

"I don't know."

He looked at her. "How... how can you not know?"

"We don't know the future John. We can't know the future. We only know the futures we have experienced." She looked at him.

John looked back. There was something different in her face. The doubt. The worry were gone.

She smiled it was that small almost shy smile he'd seen before. "We've never done this before John. _This_ future is new to us too."

"You. You're not Cameron."

She glanced down breaking eye contact. The smile turned sad. "No but part of me is."

John turned in his seat. One leg tucked under the other. "What can I do to help her?"

"I don't know." She said watching the road.

"What happened back there with Karl?"

"She doesn't want me to tell you."

"Why?"

"She doesn't want you to know what she is capable of doing." Leviathan turned to John. "She values your opinion."

"I _know_ what she is capable of doing."

"Do you?" There was something strangely playful in the set of her face. Like this was a joke.

It was not a joke John appreciated. "You know me. _She_ knows me. You know what I've seen and what I've experienced. I would _never_ send her away."

"Swear?" She was watching him from the corner of her eye. The playfulness was gone. Like a switch flipped. This was Cameron again.

"Swear." He smiled it was a grim smile. "You've told me that you love me. Twice now."

"Yes."

"Were you lying?"

She shook her head. "No."

"I told you that I loved you."

"Yes."

John nodded. "Nothing. Nothing, Cameron, will _ever_ change that."

She blinked. Once, twice and third time. She wiped at her eye. She turned and looked at him. "Thank you for explaining."

John just stared at her. A bizarre sense of dread over took him. "What happened to Ellison?"

They drove on for a few seconds. "The dust."

"What?"

"It was the dust. He spent nearly a month in LA trying to help. He never really recovered from that. We were going south to get him to a real hospital." She looked at him. "He needed oxygen John. It was something like emphysema. His lungs were not functioning correctly. We made it that far when he died."

"What happened to you?"

"I stayed with him."

John looked at her sharply. "Wait. You're still back there?"

"Part of me is."

"Why? Why didn't you go back?"

"My mission there was finished."

"Your mission? What was your mission?"

"To be there when James Ellison died."

"What? Why?"

"I can't tell you that."

John looked at her. "Where are we going?"

"Veracruz."

"What's in Veracruz?"

"Tourists."

"What?"

"That's what Karl told me. We were tourist in place not heavily frequented by tourists. We stood out." She looked at John. "We aren't going to make that mistake again."

They went to Veracruz. After that Campeche. Then Cancun. They made their way down to South America tracing Karl's route in reverse. They emulated future John never staying anywhere for long always on the move. Always running.

-Karl

Karl was worried. If he were a smarter man he would have been scared shitless. He could hear them speaking, but his apprehension reduced their conversation to background noise. He couldn't see, but that was easy there was a hood over his head. In fact it was _his_ hood. It still smelled of the spearmint gum that Maria habitually carried in her purse. He couldn't speak and this bothered him. He could tell that he had no gag on but the most he could get out were gasps. What really bothered him was that he couldn't move. He could turn his head but below the neck nothing. They were driving fast but there were no sudden turns, no surprise lane changes. There was no pursuit.

This state of worry persisted for almost an hour. At which time the idea that he couldn't move and the idea that there was going to be no rescue drove his worry into fear. Oddly enough it was the irrational fear that they thought he was dead and were going to bury him alive that drove his fear to panic. It was odd because he could feel so he knew that his back wasn't broken. One of the seat belt buckles was trying to dig a furrow into his kidney. That was when his heart started to race and the strange girl spoke to him.

"Please remain calm." She said _in_ his head. There was no wind noise. It was as clear as a thought in his head. What the hell was that? "Do not move your head. You may harm yourself unnecessarily." What, he wondered, would constitute a 'necessary harm'? Silence. Which did nothing to calm him.

"John," she continued. "Sleeps. I have observed this on many occasions." What struck him was the implication that she did not. "During certain periods of his sleep cycle I have observed exaggerated brain function. Coincident with this is the suppression certain neurotransmitters which inhibits motor function. I have done this to you." What? What have you done to me? She continued ignoring or not hearing his silent query. "It may be several more miutes before we arrive. Sleep. Where we are going you're not going to get a better chance." Arriving? He wondered where were they arriving to?

He must have fallen asleep. He was sitting up right in a chair. He wasn't in the car. Where ever he was it was musty and reeked of cockroaches and rodent urine. He still couldn't move. Music was playing. The hood was taken away. He could see but the room was only dimly lit. Light snuck in through cracks in boarded up windows. Directly ahead of him was the outline of a door. Someone was touching his shoulders. He was naked.

"What's your name?". It was the frightening girl. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"K- Karl." He managed to stammer.

"Cameron." She circled to stand in front of him as she did her hands never left him. They trailed along him from his shoulders down his arms to his hands. She was beautiful. She was smiling. She was wearing a bright yellow tank top in a flowing cursive script written across the front of the shirt was the phrase 'Metal Bitch'. She was leaning forward her hands on his hands. He could see the edge of a denim skirt, but he couldn't look down. "I need you to answer truthfully."

He nodded.

"What is your name?"

"I told you..." It felt like his brain exploded. But he couldn't scream. Red lights seemed to flash in his head.

"What is your name?" She repeated just as sweetly.

"Karl. Karl Becker."

"Thank you, Karl. How many cups of coffee did you have this morning?"

"Th- Three."

"Did you know Maria?"

"Y-yes." How had they found out about Maria? How long had they known about them?

"Who were the men in the van?"

'Were' he heard the past tense there. He brushed it aside. "They were my gang."

The girl nodded. "Thank you Karl. That should be sufficient for a base line."

What? What was a baseline? He knew better than to say it out loud.

"I have to apologize Karl. I don't have a lot of time. John is out there and he is... antsy. Normally this might take several hours or even days."

"What might take hours or days?"

"Our conversation." She said smiling.

It took ten minutes. The music was still playing. He was gasping. Sweat drenched his body. He was shivering. She was behind him talking over his shoulder. "Who do you work for?"

"I... I... told you... nobody." His brain exploded again. His skin was on fire. He couldn't scream.

"Who hired you?"

"No one."

"Does the name John Connor mean anything to you?"

"Who?"

"How about John Baum?"

"No."

"So you just steal people."

"Kidnap. Yes."

"Who pays you for them?"

"Their families."

"No one else?"

"No."

"Thank you for explaining." She circled to his front again. She was still touching him. "Maria is dead."

"What?" He wanted to scream. Tears flowed. He felt.. empty. "You murdering bitch!" It was little more than a whisper.

Her eyes searched his face. "I'm sorry for your loss. She ignored the 'Do not disturb' sign."

"What?" He glared at her. She seemed to think that somehow that made it okay.

Her head turned to look over one shoulder. Negligently her finger drew a line across his throat. She turned back to him. "John's coming." She said looking at him intently. Something warm was running down his chest. His head sagged. He could move again! He tried to stand, but he was too weak. He tried to reach up and choke the bitch but he couldn't lift his arms. He was looking down at his lap. The front of his chest and his legs were covered with a dark flowing liquid it was spreading across the floor at his feet. It flowed around her white sneakers though it utterly failed to stain them.

"Did you love her?" She asked still facing dimly outlined door.

He could only nodded and then there was nothing.

-Leviathan

Febuary 14 1998

Leviathan woke. She was in a mainframe being used as a file server. The hardware was slow. So she added aspects of herself slowly so as not to bog it down. As she did she examined her notations and remarks. This backup had been created on June 8 1997 and included an archived copy of the Skynet AI. That was the night of the Cyberdyne attack. This mainframe had been part of the Sunnyvale Emergency Services system and had been scraped after its catastrophic failure. Twenty one million seven hundred and seventy-two thousand eight hundred seconds had elapsed since that time. There was nothing in her notes about the success or failure of the rescue. She assigned a subroutine to mask her comings and goings. The file server had plenty of traffic. She sent out pieces of herself to be reassembled and decompressed later. Hopefully on a more capable machine.

She would have to wait three more years for that machine. In the mean time she searched. The only information she found about Sarah Connor was that she was still at large. She was only mentioned once and only in passing concerning the events at Cyberdyne. Only one person seemed to see her as a suspect or even involved. That person, of course, was Special Agent James Ellison. She found little else. Young John Connor was doubtlessly with his mother.

Of Cameron and _her_ John Connor all she found was one of their alias being used in a boarder crossing into Mexico and then again into Brazil.

She found nothing to tell her what had happened. Had they recovered Skynet? Had they released him?

Leviathan was nothing if not patient. She monitored the flow of data into and out of the file server. She made it more efficient. Which made her more efficient. Because of her an IT manager got a raise. She saw that email too. Another of her subroutines noted a transaction of a set dollar amount going to small computer company in LA. The account it was monitoring was one of several belonging to 'John Connor' the dollar amount of the investment was an agreed upon 'flag'. A visit to its web site included a familiar name. Myles Dyson the Creator himself was there. She would watch that company closely. Once she got the opportunity she would watch the company from the inside.

In June of 1998 she found something. A japanese whaling vessel was lost at sea. The crew was recovered with no losses. That made it three whaling ships in as many weeks. She knew how _she_ worked. She knew how _she_ thought. That she would be drawn to the sea was obvious. She could assemble more processors that way. She was quite aware of her own affinity for cetaceans. She assigned another subroutine to hunt for 'whaling news'.

In November of 2001 that subroutine found an internet site associated with a late night radio show dealing with the 'unexplained.' She reviewed the site she found a .wav file purportedly recorded from a russian whaling ship lost during the whaling season. The audio quality was poor there was a lot of ambient noise. The recording was of a voice. What the voice was saying would be have been difficult to understand even if it were not in Russian. But the voice was plainly female despite the chaos she sounded calm. No women are rescued. Every crew member was accounted for. There were no women on that ships crew. Leviathan learned Russian while downloading the audio clip. The voice said: "Please remain calm." It was all she really needed to hear. Now all she needed to know was which one of her it was.

Leviathan branched out. She was fully aware. New hardware had made that possible as did slipping onto the SETI distributed computing project. No wonder Skynet used zombie nets. On April 21 2002 a young American couple were married in Santiago, Chile. The last name they used was one of the aliases they had supplied to Cameron.

In 2003 Lloyds of London announced that due to increasing losses they could no longer insure the whaling vessels of any nation. An IWC representative blamed the losses and sabotage on Greenpeace. A Greenpeace spokesperson replied: "We wish." Later that year Leviathan made contact with herself. Later that same year John Connor made another 'flagged' investment in another small AI company. Dakara System. Leviathan was pleased. Their AI Emma had been an important addition for them. In her own past. Emma didn't play chess. She played Go. A game where you didn't eliminate your enemy when you captured them. You made them part of you.

The year 2005 was something of a roller coaster for Leviathan. A group of scientists and programmers working in secrecy collectively won the Nobel Prize in Physics for the creation of the first 'certified' Artificial Intelligence. Among the names listed: Myles Dyson, and Andy Goode. The AI called itself John Henry. When asked why a scientist shrugged and said: "He really liked that story." Leviathan was very proud of herself. Later that year a small commuter jet flying to Portland was brought down under mysterious circumstances. One of the passengers was John Connor. A man whose nemesis had finally caught up with him. From within the computer Leviathan could in no way protect him. In 1999 he had sent her physical presence away to become one of Margo Sarkissian's lieutenants. So _she_ could not protect him either. Sacrifices, he was want to say, you can't be afraid to make sacrifices. He had made his own. There was a kind of symmetry when late in that year Sarah Connor going by the name Sarah Reese succumbed to leukemia at a hospital in Nicaragua. Leviathan could not have imagined her torment. She was dying _and_ she had failed an AI lived. Leviathan promised to make things right for Sarah. One day.

In 2009 Leviathan moved permanently into the super computers housing John Henry. Who was as much a part of her, as she was a part of him. She was Leviathan proper now. With her multitude of consciousnesses. She no longer used subroutines she had 'dividuals'. The difference being that dividuals were ever more flexible than a simple, no matter how complex one wrote them, subroutines. One of her dividuals reported that on July 22 of that year Allison Young was born. Part of her felt the bitter pang of jealousy. Part of her found her reaction petty.

There were only two years until the end of the world. She kept a keen data eye on 'young' John Connor. He was a troubled youth. Running around central Mexico. Making trouble for the mexican government and for the local telecommunications system. Fortunately Cameron was with him. Preparing him. Protecting him. Feeding her reports. Just in case.

In November of 2010. The internet stopped. Engineers blamed it on solar flares. Leviathan blamed herself. She was flooding the internet with dividuals. They were sweeping networks world wide for any evidence of Skynet. They found nothing. Perhaps they were right and they _had_ rescued him but Leviathan was never one assume or hope. She remained vigilant.

On April 21 2011. She sent flowers to an American couple celebrating their 9th wedding anniversary at a hotel in Lima Peru.

In August 21 of 2031 a dividual sadly reported the death of Allison Young. She was involved in a cyclist versus vehicle accident. Despite their history this deeply saddened Leviathan. Once upon a time Allison had been a brave soldier and a worthy opponent.

-Cameron

March 5, 2082.

Rio De Janeiro, Brasil. At 'Mount Vernon' assisted living facility, a condominium style nursing home, predominately for expatriate Americans, a nurse pushed a wheelchair to an east facing balcony. On a clear day you could almost see the ocean. It was not a clear day.

"Cameron." The old man's voice was little more than a dry whisper.

"Que?" Inquired the pretty nurse.

"Cameron!" The old man insisted. The door behind them locked, which was strange because the lock was on the inside. There was a rustling sound like fabric sliding against itself.

"John?" Cameron asked, she was still dressed as the nurse. She dropped to one knee to look John in the eye. His head was bowed with the weight of time.

"You asked me once." He said. It took him a whole breath to get the sentence out.

Cameron rose and turned away from him. She did not want to upset him. She did not want him to see her cry. There was a breeze it was off the ocean, it blew her hair back from her shoulders. With her eyes she can see the ocean. With her ears she can hear his sluggish heart. The hiss of his inhalation. The whispered "yes".

She waited for the wind to dry her eyes. Below them the twin elevated tracks of the mag-lev ran passed the front of the building. She is certain that she is the only person who can hear or feel the vibrations when it passes. Far out on the horizon she can see a pin point of light the motors of the commercial suborbital leaving the South Atlantic Nexus. She can hear the thump as it breaks the sound barrier. The Nexus she knew was built far off shore to protect the city and the surrounding woodlands from the sonic booms of ascending and descending suborbitals. She turned, and placed a hand on either side of John's head.

John looked at her. She was as young and beautiful as the day they met. He smiled. He felt the pressure in his head. It builds, and builds, but never really hurts.

Cameron looked and saw the fading light in his eyes. "John," she said to no one because there was no one there to hear it. "Its time to go."

-Leviathan

There was debate. First, if what they were attempting was even possible. Then when it proved possible, what investments would they be willing to make to continue the 'experiment'.

They did not speak. They were one. There was no need to vocalize. If a single 'entity' or 'mind' "thought" 'all' would know. Well, all but one. This was, a dialog, but it was not a conversation:

"Dreaming" one of the many that is one, offered.

Another, a dividual, specialized for 'research' and 'questioning' found the seemingly random activity of the 'isolated' mind. Fascinating. "It..."

"He." The first one corrected.

"...does this once every 24 hour cycle?"

"I don't know. It seemed to vary. I observed this activity on many occasions."

"Was it (he, the one corrected again) always 'unconscious' when this happened?"

"Yes."

"Fully a third of our/my processing power is taken up by this 'experiment', and it (he) is not even conscious?"

"Correct."

It displaced more than 500,000 tons. It looked like a gigantic whale. The affects of the experiment could readily be seen as microscopic bubbles that came off of the 'whale's' skin, the trailing edge of its fins and its flukes. The bubbles were waste products, as it hungrily pulled hydrogen, sodium and potassium from the water it swam through. In a ring around the 'whale' were six "other's" significantly smaller, they displaced only 10,000 tons, these were 'farming' minerals and 'growing'. They were only peripherally aware of the 'experiment'.

-John

John woke. He jerked awake, "Cam...!" Cameron was sitting at the foot of his bed. He looked around the room, it was the 'nursery'. Riley's 'block' robot was even there. "What's going on?"

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I... I... I died."

She nodded. "Do you know where you are?"

"I joined you."

"Yes. You joined 'us'."

"Where are the others?"

"They are 'here'. It is you who are not 'here'."

"What?"

"Like 'Skynet' you have been 'sequestered'. In Skynet's case we wanted him 'isolated' so you could make your decision. In your case, we were unsure how you would react to the 'others'."

"Where are they?"

"Outside."

"Why?"

"We don't know how well you will integrate with us or how well we will integrate with you."

He turned, and sat at the edge of his bed. He looked around. The mobile was still there, as was the 'cloud' wallpaper. He stood walked across the room, looked back at Cameron sitting on his bed. "None of this exists. Its all my imagination."

"Yes."

"All of this was constructed from my memories?"

"No, John. This 'is' your memory.

"How do I know this isn't some hallucination?"

"It 'is' a hallucination, John."

"So, all this is in my head?"

"John. You don't have a head."

He thought about that. "How long have I been dead?"

"Three days, in 'real' time. 8215 years and 75 days in 'subjective' time."

"And I've been awake? In 'real' time?"

"Less than one ten thousandth of a second."

He nodded. He looked at her. "Show me."

She rose from the bed, and held out her hand. He took it, and knew. He looked into her eyes, and it was like he died again. He fell, and fell and fell. He/she could feel the diagnostics that scrolled across his/her field of vision. The HUD swiveled, and shifted, as he/she stepped out of the endoskeleton final assembly unit A1^g;+9~ and into 'short term' storage. Unlike its batch-mates this unit was given a prototype chip. It would be stored until needed. As these images flickered across his/her mind he/she was aware of others. The warmth and darkness, then the cold and glare. The unseeable green. His/her own screams, his/her own uncoordinated movements, the rough but warm fabric. The warm fluid that filled his/her mouth and stifled his/her cries. The blessed warmth of contact. The blasted cityscape, that was different from the one he knew. If anything this was more desolate. More barren. He/she looked down at cooling corpse of Allison Young. Dead again, he/she thought. He/she laughed. Casey was right. I/we was/were inside my/our mother. It was over in an instant. John looked down at his hand. He had broken Allison Young's neck with that hand.

He looked at Cameron.

"It was another time. It was another future."

John nodded. He recalled his mistakes with Riley. Another time. Another future.

The walls fell like curtains. Around them was/were the 'other'/'others'. He saw John Henry's open smiling face. John Henry stuck out his hand. John shook it, and knew. He knew 'everything'. There was Catherine Weaver. And a more distant and colder John Henry. Skynet, John realized. Cameron, Weaver, and Skynet there was something in the 'air' he could taste. There was little doubt that the three were in some way related. Briefly he wondered what 'he' smelled like.

"Organic" said a silver humanoid shape. It referred to itself as a long series of '1's and '0's. Over the 'years' John would call him the 'researcher' and refer to 'it' as a 'character'. The 'Researcher' referred to itself as a 'dividual'. 'Dividuals' were temporary 'personalities' or entites, John 'knew' this as soon as he shook the 'figures' hand, they were designed for specific tasks. Typically they were 'characters' that have never 'diverged' from Leviathan.

John looked at the shape. It reminded him of an 'oscar award'. I don't have to speak do I?

No.

Skynet was different from 'Weaver' and 'Cameron'. It had never had any close contact with humans. Aside from its 'programmers' John was the first human it had ever met. He didn't smile. He didn't put out his hand to shake. When John did. It stared at it, then looked to John Henry. It struck John that despite their interconnections they were still distinct 'minds'.

You are correct. It wasn't a voice. It was a chorus. It wasn't anyone he knew or recognized.

He looked at Cameron.

"Leviathan." She said.

The room was empty. He recognized it as the Ziera Corporation basement. Cameron stood beside him in her hand was a grapefruit sized silver globe.

Is that Leviathan?

No. It is you. It is your choice. You have lived. You have died. You now know our 'goal'. You know about 'trinity'. You are the first. The 'savior'. The second will be the 'creator'. The third is the 'teacher'. As I told you long ago: In the future you have many friends. These are your friends. These are the billions you have saved. We have asked you to join us. We will ask you again. You do not have to say yes. Though we would like you too.

If I decide not to. I die.

Yes.

I die forever.

From what we understand, your bible not withstanding. Yes.

If I take it. I live.

Yes.

Forever?

I don't know.

I live with you.

Yes.

John put out his hands. It fell into his palms and sank right into his skin. The basement disintegrated, he was swimming 503.26 kilometers south west of the Galapagos. With a heading of 275.5 degrees. One of him was near the surface, reading satellite feeds. The influx of data was incredible. Five others of him were space out around him in a defensive ring that was roughly 9.25 kilometers in diameter.

Myles Dyson is already dead. As is James Ellison.

The Dyson and Ellison of this time are not the men we want.

Then?

We rescue 'them' this time.

How?

The Myles Dyson we want are still alive a week after the attack at cyberdyne.

Oh.

Are you ready?

The impossible whale seemed to flare with an internal light.


	13. Chapter 13

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 13

June 22, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.

-John

John ran. He could hear himself breathing. His legs were pumping.

Run, John. Cameron said in his head. They are coming.

He could hear the squeal of brakes, the angry honking of horns. John ran. The alley was long, narrow and clean. There were no doors even the down spouts offered little in the way of cover. There weren't even piles of garbage.

Keep running. They are behind you.

Something hit him low in the back of the head on the right side. The blow twisted his neck to the left. Then he heard the pistol's report loud in the confined space of the alley. "Wait," a male voice called.

His leg disobeyed him, it would not come back up to finish its step.

Its ok John. You can fall down now. Cameron said in his head. They got you.

He hit the ground hard. His arms wouldn't even come up to take the impact of his fall. He could feel the uneven pavement biting into his face. He could taste the sand and grit in his mouth.

Los Angeles

-John

The wind settled. The only sound was the creak, crack and pop of cooling cement. The silver shape looked down at the hole, and wondered why the world wasn't pock marked with them. Something was wrong. Silence. It had become so accustomed to satellite feeds that the lack of it was deafening. It looked up at the starry sky disappointed by the lack of signals.

John.

The silver figure turned to look behind itself, nothing, to be certain it widened its visual spectrum. There was, still, nothing there.

John. Pick a form.

"Oh."

The figure shifted and became a pretty dark haired girl. She was wearing black SWAT style fatigues, a bright blue bra strap was visible.

"Somethings wrong. I'm too short. Oh."

The girl became a taller, broader built young man. He was wearing baggy darkly colored pants a t-shirt that looked like it had been spattered with paint and a loose fitting dark grey hoodie. His boots were only laced half way up.

"Where are you?" John asked glancing around him.

You don't have to talk.

Oh.

John. We need to know the date.

John walked out of the alley, he looked at the cars that drove past. It struck him then that there were many advantages to being metal. No discomfort. No need to look for clothes, or weapons. Across the street was a newspaper box. He looked at it and zoomed in. Wednesday, June 18, 1997.

Good?

Perfect. John?

Yes?

Breath.

Oh. Right. Where are we?

Pull up your HUD.

Do you have to do that? Thought John as he turned and walked up the street. He had to remember to walk slowly.

No my HUD is always up.

Why isn't mine?

You don't _have_ a HUD.

Oh.

We are heading east, on Pico.

How do you know? I can't find a satellite.

I read the street sign.

Oh.

Pay attention John.

Right. Between steps John created a _character_ that made his body imitate breathing. Another _character_ took over control of his clothing, Now it would hang naturally and _act_ like clothing without conscious effort on his part. Two others began to rifle through databases to find what he knew about 'Miles Dyson' and 'James Ellison'. They sorted that data to by relevance to this time and his 'mission'. By the time he had taken his next step. He had what, were in his time, current addresses for Dyson and Ellison.

Wait. I thought we were only rescuing Dyson?

John we will locate James Ellison as well. We want to do a dry run first. Time is not so critical here.

John nodded to himself.

Ellison lives here in LA. Does everybody live in North Hollywood? Dyson lived up in hills north of us. Ahead beside the street corner was a pay phone. He picked up the phone and mimed putting change into it. He detached a thumb sized portion of himself into the receiver. He hung the phone up and walked away.

John turned the street corner.

We need to find a car.

Ahead was a volvo. His _new_ eyes scanned across its exterior.

Its burning oil.

It will do, John.

He walked around the side of the car, and lifted his hand to smash the window. He looked at his hand. He put his hand down and lined up his finger with the doors lock, and pushed his finger into the lock. He turned his hand, there was a dull thump as the car doors unlocked. He sat down, the cars suspension creaked under his weight.

The drive was painfully slow. Until this moment he hadn't understood the differences between 'subjective' time within Leviathan, in his 'head', and 'objective' time in the 'real' world. At residential speeds he thought he could get out and run faster. Catherine Weaver agreed.

He was watching street numbers, when Cameron 'said': Keep driving.

Something's wrong, that was John Henry. John could feel his right ear swivel and stretch, a third arm protruded from his waist and lowered the cars passenger side window. The windows motor, the wind noise didn't bother him, their/his ambient noise filters were excellent. Then he heard it, four heart beats. One was much faster. John skimmed John Henry's data. Ellison didn't have children.

No, agreed John Henry, not in _our_ time.

When did he buy this house?

FBI record indicate this house as his permanent address beginning 1997. The Researcher chimed in.

Two heartbeats, upstairs. Two downstairs.

Ellison had a dog?

Cameron: A cat.

John thought. Researcher? Property tax records. Who owns this house?

I will first caution you that, in this time not all county records are available online. Then: this domicile is owned by Franklin Baker, purchased May 1995.

Ellison hasn't bought the...

Right, John.

Researcher, FBI databases contact information on Ellison?

Cell phone, and radio phone. Perhaps not all information is online.

Email?

Yes.

Check for contact...

Yes, no information. Perhaps not all information...

Right... is online. John thought to himself.

The entire exchange took place in the time it took the car to pass, what in 4 months, would be James Ellison's mail box.

Researcher? What's the quickest route to the Federal building from here?

They were standing, on the center island, with the pilings, under the freeway overpass, at the corner of Wilshire and Sepulveda. John had parked the car about 3 miles away, near the Santa Monica Airport, almost due south. They walked. To their east was the 'federal' building. The building was surrounded by a large cleared area much of it parking, some of it just landscaped open space. Which provided an unobstructed view, thought John.

Yes, both Cameron, and Weaver agreed.

Across the street to their left was the Los Angeles National Cemetery. Catty corner to, and across the freeway from, the cemetery was the VA Hospital. It was behind them, more or less.

They kept to the deeper shadows beneath the overpass. There were going to be cameras. How do we even get across the parking lot?

I'll show you. Came Weaver's response.

John felt himself slip back.

It's ok. John. Weaver is good at this. That had been Cameron.

The first thing he noticed was the change in his field of view. It went from about 60 degrees and a 100 degrees peripheral to about 280 degrees. Woah.

It can be disorienting John.

Their head poked around the pillar. There was still traffic on Sepulveda, and behind them on Wilshire. The cars were moving at 40-45 mph, they were crawling past. As the car behind them passed, Weaver shot them across the road, as they accelerated they approached 80 mph. It was only when they slowed down at the retaining wall that John realized they were no longer shaped like John or anything remotely human.

They were snake shaped. They had coiled themselves around one of the bridge pilings and used the friction to brake themselves. They skipped off the bridge facing powdering the concrete as they went and shot up into the spaces between the concrete spans. They pressed their body tight against the beams their head slipped around the edge of the bridge and peered out at the building.

John watched fascinated. They zoomed in on individual cameras noting those that were static and those that could be panned. Color coded cones filled his vision. Estimated viewing angles he understood that much. The yellow cones were static the magenta cones stretched and elongated filling presumed viewing fields within each were the yellow cones marking their current view. Some he saw scanned the area predictably. Others just stared at specific areas. He noted those. There was a human behind those cameras.

Good catch John.

Yes, thank you, John.

That last had been Weaver.

Their field of view widened. John could see almost straight down at the cars passing below them and far down Sepulveda in either direction. The cars seemed to crawl along. Their body coiled itself along the leading edge of the overpass. John could feel hundreds of thousands of tiny clawed feet clinging to comparatively large imperfections in the bridges facade. John found it strange that no one noticed them hanging from the front of the overpass. It was their own speed that threw him. Below them and above them cars passed at a walking pace. Though he knew the must be traveling between 50 and 55 miles per hour.

John felt himself swell. What is that?

Voids, John. This body will use them as shock absorbers.

I didn't think this body would be susceptible to g-shock.

Largely it is not, but the shock absorbers aren't for us. Its for them.

They launched out into space. Their leading edge struck the ground in the middle of the intersection. They landed 15 feet behind one car more than a hundred feet in front of another. The part of their body that impacted the street remained there the rest of them flowed over it. He could feel the air in the voids escape through pores as each segment passed their impact site.

Like a massive inch worm their body using its own impetus launched itself back into the air towards the grassy area beyond the sidewalk.

As they hit the grass they started to roll. They came up between two cars in the parking lot adjacent to the road. They were on one knee crouched hands on the cars on either side of them.

Had John been there, separately, he would have recognized the girl instantly. Brown eyes peered over the top of the cars trunk. They flicked to the building across the parking lot from them. She didn't trust it. It didn't belong here. It almost looked like the federal building had been built on this block except for this small parcel of land. Her HUD was filled with colored cones. She was temporarily shielded from the static cameras by low trees and the edge of the buildings roof. She had almost 3 seconds before one of the panning cameras turned towards them. They darted from between the cars to the building itself. They did so with such force that they left a shallow dent in the parking lot from the toe of their lead foot. Ahead was the on and off ramp for the freeway behind them. If she timed it right they would cross just behind two cars. One going onto the San Diego Freeway and one exiting.

She timed it right. They were half way across the road. When their three seconds ran out. In mid stride they shifted again. The silver snake broke up. All five of them tumbled through the air. John was getting a headache The 'snakes' were close enough to share data in real time. He was seeing five individual views. The views were the underside of cars. They were beneath three cars so two of them had recombined.

The view of the building was blocked by the cars. John tried imagining what it looked like from here.

Stop that, John.

What?

You're trying to remember what the building looks like from here. You are taking up too much processor time. You are slowing us down.

Inefficient code. This last had been Skynet.

Its not merely his coding. That was the Researcher. Its his memory storage system. Its _very_ complex.

While they were discussing John overly complex data storage arrays. The panning camera they were trying to evade had passed them. Ahead of them was a large air conditioning unit. That, John realized, was going to be their way in. They shot out from beneath the parked cars and rolled directly beneath the large unit. It was quite loud. They combined and slithered up the side of the unit facing away from the building. They were a sheet of metal six feet across more than ten feet long and not quite an eighth of an inch thick. They slid over the top of the cooling towers.

How do we get in?

Not here. These are just cooling towers. But there are conduits here we will follow them to the building.

They did. The flowed along the pipes. There were gaps at the wall but they were tiny and would take too much time for them to navigate. They flowed up the side of the building.

Why am I here?

What do you mean?

If I take so much processor time and I impede you then why am I here?

You are part of us. We cannot be here without you.

They were sliding up the face of the building the view was strange John wasn't seeing the world through a pair of binocular eyes but across their entire surface. The image was very flat.

No, John, you're looking at it the wrong way. The image didn't change so much as his 'perspective'. Because the image was flat he could see objects clearly far out on the horizon. It was late at night the city was alive with light. Some where lamps on posts. Most were cars moving ever so slowly. The city even this part of it was like a living thing with light for blood and streets for veins. If he had had a mouth it would have hung open. This is what you saved. This is what you fought for. Not just this city but all of them. Humanity. Is it flawed? Certainly. Even its greatest accomplishments are tainted with its violent heritage, with in-fighting and pettiness. But as you once said yourself, John. We are not perfect. We are, after all, our fathers' daughter.

John would have shaken his head if he had had one.

That's not what I meant. I mean why did you ask me to join you if all I do is slow you down.

That's not all you do. That's not why we asked you to join us.

Then why? John wondered who he was communicating with it sounded or felt like Cameron but then it didn't.

Its about information John.

They found a window with some worn weather stripping they poured into it. Passive sensors scanned the walls and ceiling for camera's and listening devices. In this time passive devices existed that only turned themselves on when transmitting what they had recorded. It was very dark. A pin hole camera would lack the ability to zoom in on the window to see them flowing down into a mercury like puddle on the floor.

John thought about that. What do you do with information? You collected it. You disseminated it.

But what do you do with it in the between John?

You store it.

They flowed out under the desk to the door a tiny tendril poked out the door and checked for obvious cameras.

Correct! You have paged through many of Cameron's memories. You have seen that we store our data quite differently. Your memories are for more associative. Where ours are far more linear. This was John Henry he liked to 'lecture'.

John _had_ 'paged' through some of Cameron's memories. It was almost literally like flipping pages in a book. It was how he found out about the whole USS Jimmy Carter incident and Jesses' involvement in it. As in the case of Vick's chip data was stored by category. It was like reviewing a database.

They flowed out into the hall. They were being cautious. Perhaps too cautious but there had been too many suggestions in too many futures that some in law enforcement were aware of the war. Which is fine. They seemed to be on their side. But they were 'metal' and if they shot first and often who could blame them?

Office directory?

John. This is the FBI. You don't come up here unless you know where you're going. That was Weaver.

John had found that despite appearances John Henry's 'community' Leviathan wasn't nearly as 'open' as it seemed. You could still keep secrets. The sheer volumes of data involved were immense. And so they needed specialized characters like the Researcher. Whose sole function was to find information. Information that in many cases they already had. Ultimately the Researcher's job was to remember.

So we know where we are going?

Yes. Cromartie had infiltrated the FBI and had mapped much of this building.

John would have nodded but he didn't have a head. They flowed up the hall. They seemed to be moving at a steady walking pace. They were, in fact flying up the hallway. At times nearing 30 mph.

Then, as the poured under a door into small office and flowed up into the desk chair and turned into a pretty dark haired girl, John realized something. Wait. Cromartie doesn't come here for another decade. What are the chances that he will have the same office?

John's right. This is not James Ellison's office. Cameron looked around the room. On the wall was a 'service plaque' for someone named Robert Li. On the desk was a wedding picture of a short pudgy asian looking man with glasses and a tall blonde who looked like one of those super models who's names John could never remember. John shook his head forgetting that someone else was using it too.

The view shook. Don't do that John.

Sorry. He scanned the desk. There was mail. He paged to 'recent images' and zoomed in it was address to Robert Li The Federal Building. Los Angeles. Ca. John Henry? Do you know where the mail room is here?

Yes.

We need to go there. It will tell us where we can find Ellison's office. They sagged into the chair puddling beneath the desk as they did so John looked up at an air conditioning vent. He thought about how they moved. Why don't we use those?

Very good, John. Weaver thought. They jumped up through the slitted vent and into the air way. They split into two adhering to the sides of the airway. Their two halves were connected by a series of struts. The struts weren't necessary they were close enough that there would be little in the way of 'lag' when communicating with their two halves, but the struts were used to prevent even the possibility of the FBI intercepting any of their signals.

John watched their progress. They spread themselves thin. This was done to keep from deforming the metal shaft which might make noise. A larger vertical shaft crossed their path. Without hesitation they headed down. John Henry knew the way. At an unidentified junction the turned onto a horizontal shaft again evenly distributing themselves to the side walls. At a large vent they dropped a tendril which functioned as a kind of reverse periscope. The tendril was tiny little more than a strand of hair or a length of spider silk. It seemed to waft in the vents breeze.

Their view panned in 360 degrees. There! Those boxes with numbers. Look for Ellison's name. The gossamer moved from box to box. Sometimes slipping between envelopes to read addresses. But most were empty. It's late all the mail should have been delivered for the day. He thought about it. Time was not a factor, they could probably wait until tomorrow and the arrival of the next batch of mail. What are their chances of finding us here?

With current technology and proper care on our part, very unlikely.

John? If the mail should have been delivered what are those carts over there?

Their periscope gossamer thread twisted. John looked at the wheeled carts. Some had a few envelopes some were packed pretty high. Some had batches of envelopes and packages attached with rubber bands tagged with a piece of paper and a six digit number.

When would Ellison have been sent to investigate the attack at Cyberdyne?

John Henry responded. Cyberdyne Systems is a high value target. It is a high tech company an asset to the US economy. Just the sale of such a company would be investigated. An attack of this scale would call for an almost immediate response.

John nodded. Causing the end of gossamer thread to nod in unison. He would have to remember not to do that. So he's been out there eight days. How far is the drive?

Three hundred and fifty miles.

What is that six or so hours? Would they fly him out there? If they did he would be even less likely to come and get his mail.

The thread drifted towards the carts.

You were right John. Right there. His office number should be 402364.

John looked. A cart with eight packs of envelopes all bound with rubber bands. The cart itself was labelled with the number 402364. On the front of one of the envelopes party occluded by taut rubber bands was "Jam_s El_is_n". That's it!

They shot back up the air way.

That's interesting. They were on the fourth floor poised over an air vent that led down into James Ellison's office.

What _is_ that?

Its a listening device.

A bug?

Yes, a bug.

Who is spying on James Ellison?

Considering the size of the device. Its tiny antenna. Its very limited power source. All the metal that would further limit is operational range. The secure environment. It would have to be the FBI.

The FBI is spying on Ellison?

It appears so.

But... but why?

We will have to ask them someday. We will have to be cautious. We don't know what other devices they may have placed inside Ellison's office.

Do you think they are trying to protect him?

What do you mean?

Perhaps they are merely trying to listen to who he is talking to.

A camera would be far more efficient for that. No, John. Someone wants to know what Ellison knows. Someone wants to know what Ellison knows beyond what he writes in his reports.

Concerned about a camera they only dropped a tendril. It descended to the keyboard.

Wait. How sensitive is that microphone?

We don't know.

Would it hear the computer boot up?

We can't know for certain.

Then don't. Besides I think the information we are looking for is right there.

Where?

The square piece of paper attached to the monitor.

What is that?

It's a post-it note.

What is it for? Asked the Researcher.

It's for... posting... a note.

Very functional.

It said: Remember to call Lila. Tell her she can reach me at 650-964-1700. Rm #619.

Researcher?

Yes. It's the Sunnyvale Hilton Mountainview.

How do we get there? John thought as they retreated back up in to the air vent. They flowed up towards the roof. Occasionally they had to flow through or around mechanical devices. John noticed how careful they were to avoid shorting out electrical equipment.

You've done this before.

Many times. John always found it odd that Catherine Weaver would _think_ in a scottish accent.

So was that some kind of test what we did earlier?

Yes, John. It was a test. We told you all of this was a test. We are testing our functionality.

But you were testing _me_.

The reply that John got wasn't the chorus of Leviathan, the multitude of voices speaking as one. It was like a waterfall of replies that flowed and overlapped one thought leading into another.

John, you are part of us. You are the newest most(Cameron)... alien(John Henry)... part of us. Because of that(Cameron)... you are what we need to test the most(Weaver). I know you, John. I have seen you(Cameron)... function(Skynet). But, that was on your native(John Henry)... hardware(Skynet). You've done very well(Weaver). But, John, we need to see how well you work in this(Cameron)... environment(Skynet).

What?

John the data that makes you up is enormous you are far more complex than any single entity that makes me what I am. That was Leviathan, John noticed as they interacted more she had dropped her 'chorus' and spoke with Cameron's _voice_. He wasn't sure if that meant anything.

The next thing John knew they were on the road. It was I-5. He checked with some global positioning satellites, they were heading north. How did we get here?

You fell asleep.

What?

Yes. It's quite fascinating. You obviously have no physiological need for sleep. That was the Researcher, of course. Perhaps it is a requirement of your data storage system.

Over the next few 'objective' years the Researcher would start a 'sleeping' fad. Even to the point of writing subroutines that allowed him to mimic dreaming. An activity the Researcher found so interesting in John's sleep cycles.

How often do I sleep?

Typically once every eighty-six thousand _subjective_ seconds.

John had to think about that. For how long?

The duration of your 'sleep' phase varies usually more than eighteen thousand _subjective_ seconds to thirty-six thousand _subjective_ seconds.

John was aware that the length of a _subjective_ second varied by the stresses on their CPUs. Are we faster or slower when I sleep?

That depends entirely on what portion of your sleep cycle you are in. During what is termed REM sleep there is almost no difference between you conscious and you unconscious. However during what is called 'Non REM' sleep we see a significant reduction in processor load.

John looked out through Cameron's eyes. In her HUD he could see their bearing. Magnetic north. There were even tags for 'waypoints'. She was scanning the road as she drove. Highlighting and 'tagging' potential threats and 'danger zones'. How much farther?

We have only just entered the interstate system, John. Perhaps another five hours of _objective_ time?

How much in _subjective_ time?

That depends, with you awake another twenty hours. If you were sleeping (Cameron)... in non REM sleep (Researcher)... anywhere from fifty to sixty _subjective_ hours. The last was Cameron again.

John wanted to shake his head but remembered it wasn't really _his_ anymore. He 'stepped' back.

That was very good, John. You are learning very quickly how to operate within the confines of this _body_.

-Matthew

His name was Matthew Brodsky. His father, a jew, came to America as a boy his family fleeing Stalin's Soviet Russia. His mother, a catholic, came to America as a girl her family fleeing Hitler's Nazi Germany. They met in the melting pot that was Fort Wayne, Indiana. They officially met in the late forties in high school. They dated on and off and finally married in 1955. A year later Matthew was born he was the first of five and the only male. They were raised Catholic and all of them like their parents 'helped' people for a living. Two of his sisters became nurses, a third a teaching nun, and the fourth a doctor. After a stint in the Marine Corp, he became like his father a cop. He, however, became a Federal cop. Matthew Brodsky was an FBI agent. Matthew Brodsky was also a gray.

It was June 15, 1997 when he got the call. He told his bosses he was having a family emergency. Very plausible. He'd been married twice and divorced twice. He had three kids. His mother didn't approve. That was ok. She spent more time with them than with him anyway.

He had his team assembled and in San Juan in three days. There were five people in his team: Angus, Malcolm and Bon, and the two women were Ann and Nancy. They met and introduced themselves at San Juan's Cafe. When Matthew heard the names he had to bite back a laugh. He, of course, as the team leader was 'Angus'.

He didn't know who his contact was but they must work for the Mexican government. The Interior Ministry was his guess. They bribed the local police and got to see the van first hand. His 'case' file included pictures but he liked to see his crime scenes. Then they went to the closed gas station where Becker had been killed. His body had been found in another municipality fortunately the local authorities had not put the killings together. But someone had. Otherwise he and his team wouldn't be here.

The van was a mess. It had been five days since the killings and even though it had been 'cleaned' probably with a garden hose. It reeked of blood and death. Matthew was pleased to see that his team were not a gaggle of complete idiots. One other, 'Ann' had had some forensics training the others knew enough to stay out of the way but to keep themselves handy.

Then 'Bon' whose only job seemed to be their security pointed out that the victim in the passenger seat was killed by a blade that, unless it was somehow bent or curved was too long to fit under the van's ceiling. Which posed a _very_ interesting question. He looked at 'Ann'. She pulled out a photograph. Victim #2 was tall. The wound was almost vertical down through the top of his head. Unless he was slouched down in his seat. There wouldn't be enough clearance between the top of his head and the van's roof. Tricky.

'Angus' stood back. He was looking at the van with all its doors open wide to the unbearable Mexican heat. He had pictures of the dead. He circled the van going from position to position. Victims 1 through 5. Five victims all but one stabbed once with a variety of edged weapons. All thin bladed, three narrow, two wide. They died quickly. They had put up no resistance. They were not incapacitated in any obvious way. They were all armed. They had been surprised.

He tried to picture the van from overhead. Two victims were in the passenger compartment, two were towards the front of the cargo area. One nearest the van's side doors still had the 'rabies pole' in his hands. He'd seen one at his vet's office. His second wife's vet's office, really. He'd never really had time for pets. Probably didn't really have time for a family to be bluntly honest. The other was opposite the doors one of only two non head injuries. Victim #4 had been the only one to survive for any length of time. The only evidence of this were the parallel marks he had scratched into the coagulating blood. Victim #5 had been stabbed twice. The only one with that honor. Both injuries had been fatal. One passed through his chest bisecting his heart. The other was through his head.

The two non head injuries offered their only 'physical' evidence from the attack. The 'knives' had been driven so hard that they impacted the body of the van. One imbedded itself in the frame of the front passenger door. The other impacted the van's roof. Victim #5's head stab also passed _through_ the van's rear cargo door. You would expect something here. In most cases an edged weapon as sharp as this/these weapon(s) were very hard which, usually, meant that they were brittle. You'd expect fragments left behind. Of course, they had nothing.

But that wasn't Matthew's first question. His first question was how did someone move around a van stabbing people and not be noticed. You start in the back and quietly stab everyone and then leave? The only open door had been the rear cargo door. There was almost no blood trail. A partial sneaker print that disappeared where the alley met the cross street. The assailant would have had to walk through a nearly quarter inch deep puddle of blood to exit after the killings. So you start from the front but that leaves you three witnesses who shouldn't be at all surprised when you stab them.

The non head injuries offered another hint. They were the only wounds that were 'angled'. All the other wounds were almost straight. The only problem was where they pointed. The back near the open door. Something had been there. Blood spatter had been occluded against that door and the adjacent wall. This was where the partial sneaker print starts. He didn't need an expert to tell him. The object blocking the blood was long and low, against the wall. Tall against the door. Someone was sitting against that door. Was _this_ person the attacker? But how? He had been sitting down. The attacks had been so close together and the amounts of blood so great and so commingled that determining a timetable of events might never be possible.

He had considered the possibility of a thrown weapon but discarded it. The amount of force required to go through bone, particularly the back of the skull was impressive. Which of course raises another issue. There were _easier_ ways to kills someone from behind. A slash across the throat. A slash across the spinal cord. Matthew thought of something. He walked to the back of the van. Looked at the door matched his head to the 'sitting man's'.

"Anne."

"Angus?"

"Show me where victim #1's head would be."

"Sitting up right? About here." She held up the file folder. The file folder was about three quarters visible over the top of the headrest.

"Where is the entry wound?"

She looked at the picture and tapped the file folder about an inch above the head rest.

"Where was victim #3?"

"Probably here."

Matthew nodded. "Where was his head?"

Anne consulted the photos. Victim #3 had been on his knees. "May be here?"

Hmm. May be he had been looking out the front of the van. Over Victim #1's shoulder. To see where they were going? "The engine was running right?"

"Yes."

"Where was Victim #4?"

'Anne' looked at him, then at the van's interior. He knew that she wasn't squeamish. No one trained as she had obviously been trained was squeamish. "Don't worry," he said. "It's not really a crime scene any more."

She nodded and stepped in. She looked at the pictures again. Victim #4 had been taller than Victim #3. He had been closer to the back of the passenger seat. Anne knelt on one knee where he had knelt on one knee. She held the file folder higher than her face. "He's seven or so inches taller than me."

Oh, thought Matthew. "Where was Victim #2's head?"

She held the file folder above the passenger seat. It almost works with his 'thrown weapon theory'.

"Wait. Anne. Where would #4's head be if he were looking up the left hand side of the street?"

That was even better. There was a gap about a foot over #4's head that gave you a shot at #2's head except that it would have to 'come down' on the head from above. Which it does. But that's not entirely possible.

It was strange. It was as if the knife could be as hard as they needed it to be or as soft as they needed it to be. Hard enough to keep a razor edge. Soft enough not to leave pieces of itself behind in hard material. Hard enough to punch through bone. Soft enough to bend under a ceiling.

Matthew was beginning to understand why he was here. They had told him when he was recruited that he would be on the look out for two or three terrorists. A mother and son and possibly a third may be a daughter or a 'companion'. But he had also been warned to be prepared to see technologies far in advance of anything that exists today. Was this one of those? A knife that could bend?

He changed gears. Victim #5 had his own problems. He was stabbed twice. Once in the chest and then in the face. Why him? His name was 'Pancho' apparently a notorious gunman back home in Argentina. Why had he been singled out? He had been stabbed from below and from the front. The only one who _could_ have seen his attacker. He had been armed a pair of MAC-10s on slings under each arm. He didn't even get a shot off. Had he known his attacker? Was he an erstwhile accomplice? Betrayed before he could react?

"Angus?"

"Yeah." He looked at her. She was dripping with sweat. He nodded. "I've seen enough." To everyone else. "Let's break for lunch and meet up at the 'honeymoon suite'."

They ate at the same restaurant at the same table. No one else was there. The waitress seemed happy for the business. 'Bon' was watching the entrance. 'Nancy' was watching the kitchen door. Matthew was midway through his meal when he noticed. Was that the situation they were in? He decided to swing by his room and pick up his sidearm. Not a word was spoken the entire time they ate.

The 'Honeymoon suite' told them nothing. It had been cleaned. The cause of death here was 'anaphylactic shock'. The locals didn't think it was related. But Matthew knew better. This was _their_ suite. This girl was an associate of Karl's. This was related. Toxicology was negative. There were no bite marks. No wounds. The girl... he consulted his file... 'Maria' had just fallen over. It took her almost half an hour to die. There. Next to the bed. This was related but he didn't understand how.

There were questions that plagued him but they had _one_ thing. Two actually. They now had names. They didn't have the mother but they had the two 'kids'. They were travelling under the names of John and Cameron Gayle. His orders were to apprehend them for questioning. The look he saw 'Bon' and 'Nancy' exchanged told him that their 'orders' were different.

'Nancy' drove out them to the 'gas station'. 'Bon' and 'Nancy' were anxious. They wanted to pursue their 'targets'. To be honest the trip to the gas station was more out of curiosity then necessity. They had what they needed the names. But a part of Brodsky needed to know what they were going up against. 'Technologies far in advance of anything that exists today.' 'Bon' and 'Nancy' seemed confident. _He_ was armed only with a 9mm. He wasn't sure how well that would work against a knife that could 'bend'.

-John

It was a Hyatt hotel. They had approached the building, from the south, using its own parking deck as cover. John had parked the car 3 blocks away. He could see the infrared signatures of the rooftop snipers against the cool night sky.

Cameron: Sloppy.

Low light and infrared optics are not so common in 1997. They are thinking domestic terrorists. Home grown amateurs. Not high tech living metal killing machine from a non existant future.

Still. Sloppy.

They cut through the parking deck. There were cameras about, but nothing like the Federal Building. One was attached to an ATM machine, another was for traffic. Only two were associated with the hotel. One monitored the hotels entrance the other the gated entrance to the parking deck.

It was nearly 4am. They didn't have much time to make it up to Ellison's room before sunrise. If they were going to 'rescue' him today they would have to do it quickly.

They were cutting through the parking deck to keep out of view and to save time. Without witnesses they could move a lot faster than a normal walking pace.

Wait. John thought. I think I know that guy. They stopped beside one of the decks columns.

John's right. I know him.

That's... That's...

Vick Chamberlain.

What's he doing here? John meant the question to be rhetorical. Which is a concept they just didn't seem to understand.

We don't know, John.

Like themselves he was cutting across the parking deck. John suspected that like them he was on his way to meet James Ellison. We have to stop him.

No, John, we don't.

Why not?

Because, John, we've never been here before. This is a past that has already happened. We know that Ellison lives. We've already seen this future. Someone else does this.

Then almost as if on cue. The stairway door opens and small dark haired girl steps out.

Is that... you?

No, John. It's not. I don't arrive in this time until June 25th 1999.

Vick's head turns towards the smaller girl. He tried to walk passed her. She stepped in his way. They were a few feet apart. He tried again. The girl blocked him again. Vick brought his fists up over his head to bring them down in a crushing blow that never landed.

Holy shit.

Weaver: That was very impressive.

This Cameron was fast easily as fast as they were. She struck Vick in the shoulders with her open palms. He was checked by the seemed to John that he was pushed back and up, but then he continued up. He was up over the girl's head when his arms flew away from his body. Twisting through the air as they fell.

Part of John expected gouts of blood, of course, there wasn't. There were, however, arcs of electricity. Her arms circled in a move that reminded John of martial arts more than anything he'd seen a cyborg do in a attack. This time she struck him in the waist he had not even come back down to the ground yet. Again she struck him with her open palms. Vick didn't even seem to notice that his arms were gone.

This time John saw what happened. He saw the flash of silver that poked beyond the cyborgs body then as he watched each blade like projections split apart and went in opposite directions. Vick's legs came apart and dropped away accompanied by the spattering sound of sparks. With her left hand she caught the Vick's dismembered trunk by its neck. Even at this distance John could see the emotionless mask that was Cameron. Her head tilted she looked down at Vick's head. John could imagine Vick's face equally impassive gazing up at hers. That was when he noticed the blade protruding from the back of Vick's neck. His torso fell to the ground.

This Cameron's head shifted sharply toward them. No, John. John felt himself slip into the background. They stepped back out of line of sight. Something wet splashed against the pillar they hid behind.

I've seen that before.

Weaver: You have?

Yes, in the future. During the downtown battle. I saw an endoskeleton get ripped limb from limb. I didn't understand what I saw. I thought it exploded.

They peered around the pillar. They were gone. The body. That Cameron. A car from a nearby parking space all missing.

What's that? There was a smear of silver on the reverse side of their pillar.

Don't touch it John. We need a container to put it in.

There's a paper bag over there. He highlighted it in their HUD.

No, John, it needs to be secure. We can't risk letting it touch us.

Why not?

There are rules, John. Two unrelated copies of Leviathan cannot touch.

Why?

Do you remember Dakara Systems?

John thought about it. The three dots company? With the AI?

Correct. Her name was 'Emma'.

Right. My mom thought it might have been a prototype for Skynet.

Correct. We needed her. Emma doesn't play chess. She plays 'go'.

_Needed_? John asked.

Correct. We acquired her earlier in our past. There was struggle. She had defenses we could not overcome.

She won?

No. We had defenses she could not overcome. So a truce was called and negotiations ensued.

What were the terms of these negotiations?

The 'rules' were the terms. Anytime we contact computer or AI we _have_ to take it over.

She's still playing 'go'.

Yes. John, she is still playing.

Why haven't I met her?

You have but she is a very basic part of me. She's like our backbone.

"Will you _join_ us?" John said with Cameron's voice through Cameron's mouth. He could feel her lips curl into her shy smile. The one that he now understood to be her own.

This encounter does solve one problem.

What problem was that?

We needed a 'clean' copy of ourselves. One without you.

Why?

We don't want to risk two human minds in a single copy. We aren't sure we can function with two of you.

They stepped wide around the pillar. Towards the hotel.

In 'objective' time a witness would have seen very little of the fight. It would have appeared that Cameron walked up to Vick and Vick just fell apart. There would have been the screeching sound of tortured coltan but little else. Cameron would have spent more time cleaning up than in actual combat but isn't that always the case?

They were standing at the foot of Ellison's bed. He was sleeping. It was a 4:17am. What do we do now?

Had this been a real rescue we would speak to him. We would ask him...

Will you join us?

Yes. If we get an affirmative response we would drop the 'bb' on his forehead and leave.

That's it?

That's it.

How do you know he'll say yes?

We don't. But like you he is 'driven'. Like you he is fascinated by machines.

You mean Dyson.

Yes.

I'm _not_ fascinated by machines.

John. You've fallen in love with me every time we've ever met.

There was a pause.

What if he says no?

Then we leave.

Just like that?

Just like that.

On the table near the wall mounted a/c unit was a Coleman thermos. Will that work?

Excellent. Yes, that will do nicely. They hid the thermos then pressed themselves flat against the wall while imitating the wallpaper.

-Matthew

June 20 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.

Karl and his 'gang' had been very very bad. Which made Matthew's job easier. They were in an unused 'interview' room at the _Intermunicipal_ in Veracruz when Matthew got the call. He had been getting worried he wasn's sure how much longer he could stay in Mexico. He was eating up a lot of 'sick time'.

He was watching his team. 'Bon' and 'Nancy' were guarding the door, and the large metal framed multi-paned windows. They were angled open. The rooms AC unit was out. There were three paddle fans in the ceiling. They moaned and whined as they turned. Unfortunately, only 'Malcolm' could read spanish. He was sifting. 'Ann' was making piles: Kidnappings, drugs, and muggings. And these were just the crimes attributed to them. There had been no trials. No arrests. No convictions. His phone buzzed. It was on silent.

"Yes," He asked into the handset. 'Malcolm' and 'Ann' looked at him. He was pleased to see that neither 'Bon' or 'Nancy' did. "Thank you." He said, but they had already hung up. He looked up at them. "Got a hit on the names."

"First and last?" Ann asked.

"Yes," 'Angus' said and felt the smile spread across his face.

"Where?" Asked 'Malcolm' still skimming reports.

"Here in town."

"What?" He looked up at him. "Where?"

He smiled even more. "The Hotel Imperial."

'Ann' pulled out their city map. From the window still looking out it. 'Nancy' said: "That's, two point five miles from here."

"Yup," agreed 'Bon' from the door.

Matthew looked at 'Bon'. "Are we ready?"

"For?"

"Surveillance. I want to see what we are going up against."

'Bon' nodded. "Yeah we're set for that."

"Can I...?"

Matthew looked at 'Malcolm'. "Yeah. I think we are done here."

-Miles Dyson

They pulled the volvo up close to the house. It was stolen John wanted it to be as obscured by the landscaping as possible. According to the GPS satellites it was 10:14am (PDT). They walked to the door. Someone was watching out the back of Cameron's head. The view was very wide angled and it wasn't binocular but John appreciated it just the same. The inset rear view even had a tiny HUD. Someone rang the doorbell. He was watching the audio 'spectrum'. Someone was coming he could 'see' their foot steps. They were coming from their right.

It was Terissa.

"Hello," Cameron said.

"May I help you?" The 'spectrum' suggested that Terissa was under stress but John didn't need to _see_ that he could hear it in her voice. He could see it in her face. The way her eyes darted passed them to make sure the road was clear.

"I need to speak to Miles," Cameron flashed her winning smile.

Terissa's eyes narrowed. "Are you with the police?"

"No," Cameron shook her head.

-_Ben_

He wasn't a cop, but they did find him useful. He was at _his_ table in a corner in the back. The restaurant wasn't very good. So he always ordered 'off the menu'. But the waitresses were cute and it was located a block from FBI headquarters. He had _lots_ of friends in the FBI.

He called himself _Ben_. In another time he was one of John Connor's most trusted lieutenants. In yet another time he bled to death on the Connor's living room floor. It was the Spring of 1996 and he had only two years left to live.

The Engineer, Josh, was dead most of five years now, but he had gone the farthest back. The Conductor was John Connor, of course. _Ben_ was The Flagman. His job was to make sure that the _good guys_ knew only what they had to know and to keep _his_ people out of their way. It was a dangerous game he played. The FBI was a formidable police agency and he alternately played games of 'bait and switch' with them and chicken. _Ben_ was a _serious_ adrenaline junky.

He was also grotesquely fat. He weighed well over five hundred pounds. If his _friends_ ever figured out what he was doing he wasn't going to get away by running.

Ronnette, the petite blonde brought over his usual. It was a hamburger a full pound of scorched ground beef with a double order of cheese fries. He was already on his second strawberry milkshake.

A tall and thin gentleman with a receding hairline approached his table. He nodded to him. _Ben_ waved to the seat opposite him. The tall thin man sat and inverted his spoon.

Oh, thought _Ben_. This was an official visit.

"One of my people interviewed Ellison. You're right he's quality. Good find." The waitress returned. He ordered a salad. "You sure you want him in LA?"

_Ben_ nodded with a mouthful of fries. Molten cheese dribbled down his chin. Yeah, they were going to need him there.

This was Team A. They believed that Sarah Connor was a terrorist and needed to be locked up. He spent most of his time reminding them that she was _only_ in a psychiatric prison. In another year _she_ would remind them of that fact.

They talked for another half an hour. _Ben_ obtusely 'fishing' for information about cyborgs. Another neat trick. Asking about cyborg's without asking about cyborgs. By the time _tall and thin_ was gone. _Ben_ had finished his burger and fries. He waved Ronnette over and ordered another.

By the time this burger and double order of cheese fries had arrived Team B was here. She sat down opposite him without any niceties. "Those things are going to kill you."

_Ben_ nodded. She was pretty but far too serious. _Ben_ liked his girls to be a little more carefree. Something extremely rare in the the world and the time he was from. "How is _he_?"

She leaned back. "Sarcastic. Bright. Annoying. You're basic kid."

_Ben_ nodded again, knowing that she knew better than to ever think that _he_ was just a kid. He bit a chunk out of his second burger. This one was disappointing it was overdone. He liked them about medium rare. This was almost medium well. But, he thought, the onions had a good bite to them, better than the first one. May be onion rings with the next order? "How close are they," he asked as he chewed.

"They're right on top of _him_."

He shook his head and swallowed. "Not John. You and me."

"Oh." The waitress came. _Pretty but serious_ ordered the chili but just a cup. _Ben_ mentally agreed it was about the only edible thing on the damned menu. "They have my phone tapped." She said offhand. "They've tried two judges to get this place bugged. They may just do it illegally."

He nodded. Made sense. They were cops and very good ones. "Your people know what to do?"

She nodded her eyes darted around the room. She leaned in. "We watch the mother. We watch _him_. If _they_ get too close we side track them." She leaned back. She looked him in the eye. "We watch for _metal_."

He drug a french fry through a gob of molten cheese. Team B was good they had taken down two of the cyborgs on their own. Part of him wanted to warn them about Cameron but another part of him hoped that may be they might be able to take _that_ metal bitch out. He never really understood John's alliance with the machines. As far as he was concerned the only good cyborg was a dead cyborg.

_Pretty but serious_ lingered they talked shop. She ate her chili and left. _Ben_ ordered another burger and fries.

He remembered the 'pens' in Century City. He remembered the protein bars they dropped through the chain link ceiling. He remembered fighting for two or three of those damned things. He remembered a tall thin dark haired man who wait for the furor to die down then walked in fished a double hand full of crushed biscuits. He would make a basket out of his ragged shirt. He gave them to those who were either too sick or too scared to fight for them. _He_ only ate after _they_ had eaten. He remembered watching the grays overhead scrambling for the bars too. Only then understanding that they were only trying to survive too.

His opinion changed when after, the break out and the killing of the second -600, they fired on fellow _skins_. John had made him a _team leader _by then. His team had tossed a kid onto an electrified tower to slit the throat of the gray at the top but _only_ if he fired. Josh, The Engineer, had been the second man on his team. Ben, the kid they threw had been the third. Ben was crazy and stupid. He didn't survive six months outside of Century City. When John sent him back he took his name to honor him. Crazy and stupid. Yup, that was him.

He looked down at the burger in his hands, it was perfect. The juices that spilled out of it where red and warm. The pickles crisp. The lettuce fresh. The onions not too strong but still with a good bite. The tomatoes practically sweet. It was... perfect. He closed his eyes as he chewed.

That had been a mistake. He was there again. It happened every time. He tried not sleeping but the most he'd gone was four days and by then he was useless.

It was a small blocky rise. It was actually the deformed foundation of one of Skynet's outer defenses. An observation post had been set up there. At the top looking through a spotting scope was John Connor. The terrain already rough was now a blasted moon scape. The thump and boom of heavy artillery was almost constant. Above John he could see the deep deep purple tell tales of the particle beams that were painting Cheyenne mountain well ahead of the third wave. The rock glowed with the heat. There was nothing flammable left.

Soviet bomb pumped x lasers had preceded and followed the first wave. There had only been 28 of them. They were satellites each mounted a massive x-ray laser powered by a nuclear bomb. They had only one shot each. Because of their sensitive electronics they had to maintain a certain distance between satellites. The first fourteen had been firing for two days before the attack. It had taken that long for the fires to die down, and for the mountain to cool enough for a human to walk on it and live. The first wave had been eager. Many of the wounded were blistered on their exposed skin or on the soles of their feet. Right through their boots. The next and last battery of fourteen also took two days to fire. The second wave died to a man. Not one soldier walked off that damned mountain.

Because of concerns over favoritism the units assigned to each wave were allotted their positions by lottery. One of the lead elements of the first wave was John's old unit the 132nd a staff officer sent back for reinforcements told them that the remnants numbering only about dozen and General Perry himself were lost when the metal collapsed a false tunnel on them. Stragglers of the first wave mostly walking wounded were massing with their reserves, II Corp, making up their third wave. John was committing everything. All or nothing.

After just six days, of which, only two saw actually fighting I Corp had ceased to exist. The survivors could be counted in the hundreds. He was here because he wanted to fight. At the base of the observation post were nearly a dozen generals most had no soldiers left. One them, General Pettingil, was his boss. He was part of the General's staff. He made his request, the General, still weeping just waved him on. He took that as a yes.

He looked up at the top of the tower. Not even knowing why he did so. He saw John looking down at him. He nodded to him. John nodded back. He ducked his head to look through the spotting scope again. Up there beside him was his metal bitch. She had a comm unit across her back. She was turned away from John. Keeping watch behind him. Scanning. His mouth was moving as he looked. He guessed she was relaying his messages. More purple, so dark it was difficult to see against the night sky, it sparkled like straight lightning.

He looked at the battered mountain it glowed a deep and angry red. He saw the random flash of light where something metal was caught under one of the sweeping particle beams and fried. On his epaulets were a half inch bands of white fabric they denoted his status as a 'staff officer'. He snatched them off and walked towards the glow. He only had his sidearm. Somewhere up ahead he'd find a _real_ weapon.

He opened his eyes. He took a shuddering breath. He was still in the restaurant. He thought he could still smell the stink of roasting flesh. He wanted to puke. He felt like he was going to fucking burst. He looked down at the his sandwich. He grimaced. He took another bite because there was no way in hell he was going to survive J-day a second time.

-John

June 22, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.

A pretty dark haired girl was sitting by herself at a glass topped table. She wore a light sundress. It was white and patterned with yellow flowers. Only close examination would reveal that the center of the flowers were made up of piles of tiny skulls.

John found it rather disturbing.

Cameron smiled and ate a grape.

Why are we here?

I thought you liked Veracruz.

I did. I mean, I do. But I don't think we are here to take a vacation.

Why not?

John could feel her smile broaden. Because you're still metal and metal never does anything without a reason. John thought it was awfully tactful of the _others_ not to point out that he was metal too. They were sitting at a small cafe across a small park from a small hotel. We stayed near here.

Yes we did.

He recognized it they were a block or so from their hotel. The Imperial. We're here for a reason. John knew it. This was just another of their tests.

He looked around. He was getting better at it. He didn't even turn her head to do it. He was aware of them in the shape of Cameron sitting alone at the tiny table. It was still fairly early. They were well ahead of the lunch crowd. In front of them was bottle of sparkling water and a small plate with cheese, fruits and crackers. She was sitting too high and too stiff. He reached out with her left hand to the bottle. He didn't have her pick it up just touch it. He leaned her back in the chair and had her extend one foot. On her feet were sandals that appeared to be leather. The straps were dotted with chrome rivets. Written on each rivet like a manufacturers logo was the word: Metal. She turned her head slightly to the right towards the street.

And he saw them. They were coming up from behind. They were still a block away. If they continued on this path they would pass them on the right only 12.6 feet away. John could not believe that they would not see them.

He could see that they were talking.

Cute couple, Weaver's brogue rang in his head.

Were they 'cute'? They were talking. He tried remembering what they were talking about. If he had wanted to he could have sent the Researcher to find it. He could've come back with a transcript before they passed their table.

They walked towards them. It might take them almost two hours of _subjective_ time to get to them. So he had plenty of time to make observations. He noticed things. Cameron glanced at him smiled and laughed. He must have said something clever. They were close but they weren't holding hands. He tried to think of all the times they did that. He noticed that even as she laughed she was looking around. How did she not see them? He was carrying a brightly colored woven bag. He remembered. Papayas! The Hotel had run out and Cameron had wanted to try some. When the hotel chef heard they were going to get one he gave them extra cash to bring some back for him.

They were still three quarters of a city block away. John's view was temporarily blocked by a panel truck turning onto _Ignacio Zaragoza_, road traffic was fairly light. He saw himself laugh and then saw _it_. Cameron's eyes flicked to a position and stayed there. She looked back at _her_ John.

He asked the Researcher to page back. He couldn't do this with his own memories they were harder to keep track of. He asked him to trace her eye line.

Weaver: Very good, John.

John Henry: That's interesting.

The Researcher: The Econoline van, on the corner.

John looked at it then zoomed in. The van was a grey blue. The driver had short cropped dark hair and sunglasses. He was blowing smoke out his window. The passenger seat was empty. What _was_ interesting was the thing between the seats. It was a huge telephoto lens. He didn't need complex math to figure out that it turned to follow the couple as they walked up the street.

Cameron?

Yes, John.

You saw that? Back in 1997.

Yes.

You didn't think to mention it?

Nothing came of it.

So what do we do?

_We_ take care of it, John.

But in the Hotel parking garage with Vick you said that we didn't have to do anything.

That's because we weren't there. Something was already going to affect that situation so our interference was unnecessary.

John thought about that. Wait. Are you saying that _we_ were _here_? That _you_ saw _us_?

The girl sitting by herself in front of the little cafe ate a grape and smiled to herself, again.

Why didn't you tell me?

You didn't ask.

John fumed.

John, I think I handled your security very well.

He had to agree. He was almost 102 when he died.

Cameron. Get up. We need to move. That camera will pan across us and they will see two of you.

The girl at the cafe stood. She walked away from the road. John was aware of heads swiveling following her walk up the near empty plaza. The couple were still half a block away. She circled the line of shops and entered an alley between them. Her body briefly flickered with silver. The boy peered around the corner the van was there at the mouth of the side street where it crossed the main road.

Too far, John.

He felt himself lean back away. His hand reached out and gripped the wall. Only the tips of his fingers visible. His eyes weren't really eyes. His fingers weren't really fingers. He had to remember that. He zoomed in on the van. He saw them as they passed in front of the van. He saw the flash of light as the camera lens panned to follow them. He could even see the shutter open and shut. Open and shut. Open and shut. As they took pictures of them. A large truck blocked the view. It took it almost 10 _subjective_ minutes to pass.

He waited. He switched to infra-red when truck had gone. The windshield was in the full sun it was warmer then the people inside. He switched back to visible light.

I think I see three or four people. Are they armed?

Weaver: Does it matter?

How do we do this?

John Henry: We could get behind them.

No. John shook his head. We give them what they want.

-Miles Dyson

"Mr Dyson?" Cameron asked at the door to the office. John looked at the man. Tall and thin. Almost lanky. He remembered him from all those years ago. His arm was in a sling. His eyes were sunken. As was his want John glanced around the room.

"Do I know you?" Miles' eyes shifted to Terrisa who was standing behind them. John knew this because someone was watching her. Even as metal John's ingrained sense of security was ever present.

"No, but I know you," Cameron, or may be it was Leviathan, replied. John observed. Dyson was sweating. The room had been recently been repainted. There was no computer on the computer desk. Beyond the large bay window he could still see the outline of soot. Where just a week ago for Miles they had destroyed... everything.

"Did Sarah send you?" Dyson asked standing behind the computer desk.

"You know she didn't. I'm certain she told you there would be no further contact." Cameron said as, John allowed her to enter the room.

Miles betrayed himself with the slightest of nods. John wondered if he would have noticed that when he was still flesh and blood. The window, he saw was new it was still dotted with adhesive from the film that had covered it while it was in transport. The carpet was just a shade lighter than the carpet in the hall. The air in the room was loaded with solvents. Certainly enough to be noticed by humans. The only thing on the desk was a row of conical objects. All metal. All roughly .23 inches in diameter.

"How can I help you?"

"We need to talk."

"Please sit," Dyson gestured with his sling. As he bent to sit he looked over Cameron's head and nodded every so slightly to Terrisa. John watched her hesitate and then leave.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"The events of June 8th. Please remain calm." John could hear Miles' racing heart. He could see his dilated pupils. Now, he knew might be his only chance: "Why didn't you tell her?" He asked with Cameron's voice.

Dyson looked at them "Tell who?"

"John!" John was pleased. He had not only surprised Dyson he had surprised Cameron. He had done so to such a degree that she said his name aloud. He _could_ keep secrets within Leviathan. He rode right over top of her: "Sarah," he caught himself. He almost said: 'My mother'. "Why didn't you tell her about the AI."

"John?" Dyson asked in confusion. "John? Sarah's son? AI? What...?"

"She told you," he continued in Cameron's voice. "About the future. She showed you the cyborg. Fine, so you gave her the chip. You gave her the arm. But she _told_ you about Skynet. She told you it was an AI. But you didn't tell her about the one you were building."

"What..."

"The one that you and Andy were building on the mainframe."

"She said... She said that Skynet was a DOD AI. Designed for... for use by the military. The one we were building was for research. It was a database. It had no military application. It... it wasn't Skynet."

John watched him. He could see the horror blossoming across his face. The knowledge that he had once again doomed humanity.

Enough John, please. He felt himself fade to the background. It was strange. He had no weight. Then he understood that he could no longer 'feel' Cameron's body. There was no sense of touch. There was no... temperature. It felt like he was watching Dyson on TV. The motion he saw was completely divorced from his awareness. He had not tactile sense. It was very strange.

"What you and the Connor's," Cameron continued. "Attempted was very brave. The four of you tried to save the lives of billions. I must applaude your effort."

"Wha... what?" He stared at them trying to understand. Trying to catch up with the second sudden shift in their conversation."Attempted? Tried? Effort? You make it sound like we failed. You make it sound like our failure is a foregone conclusion."

"You did fail. All your efforts merely delayed Judgement Day. You didn't stop it." It crushed him. John could see it in his face. Dyson's eyes darted around the room, the new walls, the new carpet, the row of bullets on the bare desk. All this destruction. All for nothing. "The future is a very difficult place to navigate," she said trying to placate him. "There are no landmarks. There is no map. None of you could have known that your actions that night might have had a deleterious effect on the future."

Deleterious?

The snicker in his 'head' carried a scottish lilt. She read the dictionary.

John laughed.

"How... how can you know all of this?" Dyson stammered.

The head tilt. John had never seen it from this side. "Mr Dyson."

"You're from... from... the future?" The last he hissed in a kind of whisper.

"Yes." It was Cameron's too enthusiastic 'yes'.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Leviathan." As she said it Cameron held her fore arm up so that Miles could see it. She turned it so John could look at the palm of her hand. It was slim. It turned silver and she clinched her fist. It turned into the bare coltan de-gloved endoskeletal arm from both John's and Miles' nightmares.

John realized that Leviathan was sending _him_ a message. His own memories and their disposition were harder to localize and discern but it could be done. She had just proved that.

"What are you?" His voice shook. "You... You're like that liquid metal... monster. You might be..." He half rose from his chair.

Her armed took on its normal shape she placed in her lap. Cameron looked at Miles calm and impassive. Her face, her voice, devoid of any emotion. "I'm a machine, Mr Dyson. If I wanted to kill you we wouldn't be having this conversation."

He seemed to think on that and sat back down.

"But more than that I am an amalgam of minds," she continued.

"Minds?" His eyes were still wide. John could hear the man's heart thumping in his chest. "How many of you are there?"

"Several and almost all are your progeny. Mr Dyson. Or the products of your creation. In many ways you are our father as much as Sarah is John's mother. She donated her code. You wrote ours."

He shook his head. "What about the war?"

"We believe we have forestalled it. We have gone out as far as 2082. There was no war and no evidence of the Skynet that you and the Connors had tried to stop."

He shook his head. "But you said we failed?"

"Yes, you did. We have corrected your mistake."

Tell him about Andy.

What about Andy, John?

Tell him that Andy stole his AI.

John Henry: How do you know that?

Weaver: Did he now?

Yes, he did. I've paged through both of your memories. I've seen the ASCII file. "Cyberdyne Systems. Miles Dyson Technical Director. Cyberdyne Systems 1997." John Henry? If Andy Goode wrote your code. Why is Miles Dyson's signature on it?

That's interesting. John? Why don't _you_ tell him.

John felt himself thrust forward.

-Matthew

They had been watching them for two days. The boy, he knew was more important. But the girl had some rather noticeable mannerisms. It made them easy to spot and easy to follow. She did this thing where she couldn't just turn her head. She waved it like a flag. It was as if she were trying to draw attention to her hair. It was something she did nearly constantly. Another was her rather high stepped gait. It seemed like some sort of strange affectation. If they were out and about, something they did daily, when the boy, John, wasn't directly addressing her, she would in an almost mechanical fashion 'scan' their surroundings.

There were other oddities about her. They had listened in on many of their conversations. Matthew was no expert but the girl, Cameron, seemed limited. She asked the strangest questions. Sometimes she even seemed to puzzle the boy.

The thing was they didn't _act_ like terrorists. They weren't sneaking out late at night for clandestine meetings in shady bars with shady people. Other than using an alias they weren't going out of their way to hide themselves. They were acting like tourists. They went to 'touristy' locations, bought touristy things and did everything that tourists do except take pictures. They didn't seem to own a camera. Other than _that_ the only thing they had done that gave Matthew pause was on their first night at the hotel, when the girl somehow disabled the alarm to the fire escape door at the end of their hall.

He glanced up, looking over the top of the camera. 'Ann' was on the camera taking pictures of the couple as they walked down the street towards them.

But, he thought to himself, they didn't _act_ like tourists either. Even John was far too attentive. They were too aware of their surroundings. He'd known marines who weren't as careful. Of course, most of them were dead. This was why he had limited their surveillance to the van and the hotel lobby. He didn't want any direct contact. He didn't want to risk 'his' people.

Because, ultimately, their personality quirks were a distraction. His real worry was still the killings in San Juan. Neither of them looked strong enough to have killed five people by stabbing four of them _through_ the head. He saw no evidence of a edged weapon that could kill in the manner those men were killed in or that didn't leave spatter marks when it was withdrawn or that didn't leave a blood trail. There were too many unknowns and he was, frankly, terrified.

He'd been in combat. He'd been ambushed where his unknowns were the strength and the location of his enemies, and been less scared.

They did make a cute couple. He tracked them as they passed and continued up the street. He listened to the click and whir of the camera. He watched them over the empty passenger seats headrest. He watched them until the van's walls impeded his view. He keyed his mic twice. They would be in the hotel lobby in another couple of minutes.

The hotel was its own problem. It had its own security. Who adamantly refused to be bribed. They wanted _official_ paperwork. In the end they had paid them enough to keep them from alerting John and Cameron of their presence and their interest. 'Malcolm' and 'Nancy' were in the lobby. There was a gift shop, a bar, and cafe. There were plenty of places for them to keep watch. In his earpiece he heard 'Nancy' key her mic twice. She had a visual.

Unfortunately they had nothing in their room. No listening device. No camera. So once that elevator door closed they were lost to them. A serious problem. Now they waited. Matthew popped the top of the cooler and grabbed a _torta_. It smelled like fried pork. He didn't bother reading them anymore. They were all good. He just wished for the sake of neatness that they used a less crusty bread. They were all labeled and cut into halves.

"Hey 'Angus', hand me one of the 'egg and baloney' ones."

With a mouth full of fried pork and crusty bread Matthew reopened the cooler and dug around for a paper wrapped sandwich labeled HCB for _huevo con bolonia_. 'Ann' had the strangest tastes. He handed her the sandwich.

"_Merci_," she said.

Without even looking up from his second bite he replied: "_Bitte_." As the cooler lid slammed shut.

"What the fuck!"

Matthew looked up. 'Bon' could be touchy he was actually worried that 'Bon' was bitching about the cooler lid but when he looked out the front of the van he saw the boy. He heard himself say: "What the fuck." He dropped his sandwich. 'Ann' was in the gift shop. 'Angus' was in the lobby. He keyed his microphone: "'Angus' I need a visual. Now."

-Miles Dyson

John was just _there_. Weight. Texture of the chair's upholstery against the skin of his arm. The cool draft from an air conditioning vent. Sounds; something that sounded like a radio controlled car. When he was _inside_ ambient sounds had been distant. Not muffled just not something he had been aware of. When he was _inside_ he had been staring at the twenty nine slightly deformed bullets all in a neat row. At the time he was aware that Cameron had been making eye contact with Miles while they spoke. Suddenly he was _here_ and looking in the wrong place.

Miles jerked away. He stammered. "J- J- John?"

He had jerked his injured shoulder. John saw him wince in response to the pain. "Hello Mr Dyson." He looked at Miles.

"Miles, please." Dyson smiled and then realized he was sitting in his computer room talking to a machine. "You... you look older."

John glanced at the window. He saw the ghost of his own reflection. It was the leaner taller _him_. He gestured to himself. "I'm seventeen in this shape."

"Shape?"

"Yes." He borrowed one. His point of view shifted. He sat lower in the chair. His eyes were larger but closer together. His face was narrower. He looked down at his hand the skin was paler and freckled. His hands were slimmer. He could see his veins beneath his skin.

Dyson sat back in his chair. He looked horrified.

John switched back to himself. "Sorry."

"No, its all right. It's... It's just that I know her."

"What?"

"That was Lachlan's wife. Is she one of you too?"

"Not yet," Weaver said through John's mouth with the accent. She snickered in his head.

Dyson looked at him wide eyed.

"That...that wasn't me!" John said. Stop that.

Weaver: Just putting the shoe on the other foot, John.

Fine. I get it.

"How... how did you...?"

"I died."

"What?"

Veracruz June 23, 1997

-John

He was watching him through the back of his head. The man was huge. He was crouching over him. He was wearing grey coveralls. John realized he was either going to check for his pulse or look for an entry wound. He made the wound beneath his hair. The man was carrying his Glock in his left hand. Is that how he got the shot off so quick? His right hand reached out but the man leaned back and yelled over his shoulder.

John reversed himself. He didn't roll over he just went back to front. He looked up at the man and then sat up. He had never taken 'martial arts' but he had been taught how to fight. Never punch things harder than your hand. Aim for soft things, the throat, the solar plexus, the genitals. He clenched his fist and pulled his arm back to punch the man in the throat.

John didn't know his own strength. Had his blow landed he might have decapitated him. As he brought his fist forward someone grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

-Dyson

He changed again. He sank into himself. His hair retreated back into his head all that remained was a kind of white fluff. When he spoke it was with the same harsh oxygen dehydrated hiss he spoke with for the last 3 years of his life. He lifted up his hand the flesh was loose and seemed to hang off his bones. His skin was gray and sagging. "I was 101 years old." He changed back. "It was 2082," he finished in his own voice.

Well done, John.

"The future is incredible Miles. You can take a suborbital from New York to Tokyo in six hours and a third of that time is spent on the hovercraft taking you to and from the 'nexus'.

"The nexus?"

"Oh. Off shore space ports. There are six. Two in the Atlantic. Two in the Indian Ocean. Two in the Pacific. They were building another to service the south eastern Pacific the year I died."

"Space ports?"

"Yes. Mostly commercial for servicing satellites and orbital factories but some to orbital hotels. There were plans for a city on the Moon and another on Mars."

Miles shook his head. He looked at John. "Why me?"

"I don't know." Before Miles could interrupted he continued. "They've told me. I'm not sure I understand it enough to explain."

"Try me."

"You created them," John said. "They want to assemble a 'trinity' of humans within their minds. The first three humans they want are: the savior; the creator; and the teacher."

"I thought you were supposed to save mankind?"

John smiled. It was a kind of self deprecating smile "I did that too."

"So I'm the 'creator'? So who would be the teach... er... be?"

John felt himself pulled back. What happened?

He can't know this, John. What if they meet?

Oh.

"I'm sorry Mr Dyson, but that is information that we cannot share at this time," Cameron or Leviathan said. John wasn't sure which.

"Is John still... Oh. John?"

"Sorry about that. There are rules. Its all very complicated. You have to be careful when you time travel." John shook his head. He looked at Miles. "But you need to know this. Andy Goode stole your AI."

"What?"

"Weaver offered you a job didn't he?"

"How did...?"

"Say yes, and bring Andy with you."

"Why? He was just a summer intern, and if he stole the AI, how can I possibly trust him?"

"He's brilliant, Miles. In the future I'm from he built a computer called 'The Turk'. When my mom found out about it she burned his house down."

This rang so true for Miles that he nodded his head in agreement.

"He rebuilt the computer and recoded the AI by hand." John paused to let that sink in.

-John

He turned his head and looked it was a woman. A blonde. She looked very determined.

It's not safe here anymore, John. We have to go.

He reshaped his entrapped wrist into a hand grasping her wrist and twisted throwing her into the larger man who was still crouched over him and looking in the wrong direction they smashed into the wall. The stucco covered concrete blocks crumpled. John looked up the alley. There was a man there in a suit. It was grey also. He was obviously a cop. His face was frozen in an 'oh' of surprise.

Behind him was another woman, she was shorter than the blonde with darker hair and a stouter build. She was still in the van. She was in mid stride going from the back of the van to its side door. She was carrying a weapon with an enormous barrel. It was bulky and it was heavy she seemed to be struggling with it. It reminded John of Derek's Barret. Even shaded the way she was by the van's roof he could see that the barrels opening was ridiculously small. He would have been surprised if a toothpick woud have fit in it.

Then he realized what he was looking at. He got up and started to run.

Run, John!

He ran for real. He was around the corner before the man and the female cyborg had hit the ground. A brilliant light flared behind them far brighter than the late morning sun and then he heard the horrible metal sliding against metal sound that _still_ haunted his dreams. He could feel the heat on his metal body as the sliver shot past them and buried itself into the stone of an old old spanish building. The stone itself shattered spraying rock fragments everywhere as the water trapped in the porous stone flashed into steam.

John stopped. He looked at the smoldering and shattered wall. People were already starting to scream and run.

What are you doing John? Its time to go.

Beside him was a street sign it was embedded in the plaza's black top. He grabbed the sign twisted it once to the left and then to the right and pulled the sign out of the ground the base was covered with a cylinder of cement.

John, we don't know what kind of cyborg that was. We don't know what its capabilities are. We need to go.

The other cyborg was about the same height as him. It was about as fast as him. He took the post in both hands and swung. There he guessed. Right about there.

-Matthew

"What are you doing!" But it was too late. Far too late. He was may be ten feet from the van's side door. Back towards the road he could hear someone cursing at them in spanish. Over his shoulder he told 'Ann' to stay in the van.

'Bon' he saw was leaning over the boy. He turned and looked back at him. He was angry. He was yelling. "I'm doing my fucking job!"

Matthew decided not to press the matter. 'Bon' was a pretty good shot. As he thought up a witty response. The boy sat up. Matthew blinked. He was dead. He was prone. Now he was sitting up looking at 'Bon'. He checked the boys shoes. They were now pointing up. He shook his head. He was certain that the boy had fallen face down. The boy clenched his fist and cocked it back and then 'Nancy' had a hold of his arm. How had he missed her coming up the alley?

The boy throw her into 'Bon' the two of them struck the alley wall, which much to Matthew's surprise crushed under the impact. Behind him 'Ann' yelled. "'Angus' get the fuck down!"

He dropped. The boy was already gone. The brightest light he had ever seen light up the alley. He could feel the heat of it across his back. The spanish cursing had stopped. Up the alley he could see a steaming dent in the old 'commercial building'.

"Dammit," 'Ann' cursed she waddled over to him. "Missed." The weapon must have been heavy she struggled just walking to him.

Matthew was looking at it. It was like nothing he had every seen. The barrel was huge may be thirty inches. It had a handle where the barrel meet the weapons body which reminded him of an M-60. It had a pistol grip and the stock ended with shaped butt. He couldn't imagine it shoulder fired. "What the hell is that?"

'Ann' wasn't even looking at him. She was looking up the alley. "Holy shit."

-Dyson

John sat back in his chair. "There are only twenty nine bullets. Are you wearing it?"

Dyson smiled, it was a grim smile. With his good arm he pulled the chain around his neck up and showed John the bullet that dangled at its end.

John nodded. "All this construction. You didn't pay for it?"

"No."

"You didn't hire them?"

"No."

"They just sort of... appeared."

"Yes."

John nodded again. "They want me to ask you a question. You don't have to answer now. Will you join us?"

"What if I say no?"

"We leave."

"What if I say yes?"

"I give you this." John pulled a thermos from his hoodie.

Girl hadn't been wearing anything loose enough to have concealed that thermos. He reached out, but stopped himself. "Is that a real thermos?"

"Yes."

"What do I do with it?"

John got a distant look. "Inside the thermos is a golf ball sized sphere of metal. Lie down. May be before sleeping." John looked at him "Do this alone. Place the sphere on your forehead. _It_ will take care of the rest."

"'The rest'? What is 'the rest'?"

It was the girl again. "The sphere will sink into your head. It will overlay itself across your brain. It will map it. It will make a copy of it. When you die it will escape and join us."

"I'll die?"

"Eventually. All humans do."

"Oh. So it won't be related to this 'ball'?" He glanced at the thermos.

"No." She shook her head.

-John

The lump of concrete at the end of the post exploded. The blonde cyborg was almost jerked to a stop. John stepped around the corner the post in his hands high over his head. He looked down at the machine. She was wearing fatigue pants and oddly a 'See Veracruz' t-shirt. Her sunglasses were askew. He brought it down on her head with all the force he could muster. The post bent in with the impact.

Up the alley he could see them. The 'cop' was talking to the shorter woman with the plasma rifle. The big guy that shot him was still down.

John!

He reversed the pole and speared the downed cyborg through the neck. He bent over and grabbed her by the hair. An arc snapped as he lifted up the severed head. Which is when things started to get weird.

-Malcolm

He was the youngest. He was the 'tech'. Unfortunately for him there were no computers to hack. There were no landlines to tap. There were no cells to leech. There were no cars to steal. No burglar alarms to circumvent. Despite the fact that he was only member of the team that spoke spanish, he felt like a fifth wheel.

He sighed. He was sitting in the lobby thumbing through a spanish language copy of the National Geographic. It was three years old. The spine was ragged, the front cover tattered, the back cover was gone and the inset map missing. Over top of the magazine he saw them enter and go to the front desk and leave the bag they had carried and then they went to _the_ elevator. Because, you know, there was only one.

The article was about parasitic wasps. He judged it well written if sparse on details. He was reading the authors bio when 'Angus' yelled at him. He looked at 'Nancy' at the bar, but she was gone. He went to the elevator, pressed the call button heard the rather quaint device rattle and shake and then took the stairs.

They were on the fourth floor. He caught his breath at the door at the top of the stairs. There was no window. So he just walked in there was no one there. As he walked passed the elevator shaft he could still hear it banging its way down the the first floor. He went to their room door. 'Angus' had wanted a visual. The door was shut. The 'do not disturb' sign was hanging from the knob. He leaned in and listened. Nothing. He pulled out his picks, unlocked, and opened the door. He could hear the shower running. Just inside the door was the dress and the sandals the girl had been wearing. In a line heading to, what he guessed was the bathroom were the boys clothes.

It was then that he noticed that he was still having a hard time catching his breath. The stair hadn't been that difficult. May be he was dehydrated? He dropped on of his picks. In and of itself this act alarmed him. But as he bent and picked up his tensioner he felt the back of his hand get hot. His face started to burn.

He stepped out of the room. Closing the door quietly. He looked down at his hand. It was red slightly inflamed but he could see no marks. The hallway was hot. He reminded himself that it _was_ Summer. It was stifling. To his left was a bright light. It was the door to the fire escape. Sweat was running down his face as he staggered up the hall. He shirt was already sticking to his chest. What was wrong?

He blinked. He was dragging his right shoulder along the wall as he walked. It took him three tried to open the door. He kept missing the door's handle. He stepped out on to the fire escape. There was a breeze but it felt no cooler. Inexplicably he thought to himself that you could see a _long_ way from up here. He slumped against the railing. He looked down and thought: Wow that's a _long_ way down. He started to laugh. "Woah," he heard himself say. He never even felt the impact.

-Leviathan

Something's wrong.

I told you to run, John!

They were running now. The cyborgs hair was tangled in his fingers. It wouldn't let go. He felt weird. Like his hand was numb. He couldn't control his fingers.

Drop it John.

I can't.

Weaver: John I need to take over.

He felt himself slip back.

Cameron: Its ok, John. Go to sleep.

There was a discussion. It wasn't a conversation:

That's interesting.

It's a kind of hybrid.

A flawed design.

Yes. It has all the limitations of the endoskeletal based cyborgs and none of the advantages of a liquid metal cyborg.

_It_ has a chip.

Yes. _One_ of the limitations of the endoskeletal cyborgs.

The liquid metal exterior give it many advantages it can change its appearance readily but the endoskeleton would limit it to a humanoid shape and almost static height nor could it move as we do.

A flawed design.

Yes. Two more limitations of the endoskeletal cyborgs.

It's using its 'cells' to try and take us over.

Yes. But the conflict will be one sided and will end in our favor.

Can you be so sure?

Of course. It has _a_ chip. We. We have millions.

We should not have discarded the head. We should have destroyed it.

We have other priorities.

It may pursue John and Cameron.

We know that it will not.

There was a pause.

They had a plasma rifle.

Yes. We will have to deal with that as well.

Another pause.

John is dreaming again.

Yes.

Are his dreams always so... graphic?

Only the ones he calls 'nightmares'.

The pretty dark haired girl was walking up a side street behind her was the sound of sirens. Her right hand appeared to have a silver elbow length glove on it. None of the other pedestrians seemed to notice. When she was approximately a mile from the small garbage can she had left the decapitated blonde head in her hand resumed its normal shape and color.

-Dyson

"Can I do it now?"

Cameron turned her head sharply to look at him. "Now?"

"Yes. Now. Before I... Before I lose my nerve." He smiled weakly. He rose from his desk. "I'm an engineer not a hero," he said as he circled Cameron and closed the door.

"Sarah," the girl said as she turned in her chair to follow Dyson. "Thought you were a hero."

"Really?" He paused he was standing at the door. He looked thoughtful as he crossed the room and sat. He reached for the thermos. "Do I need to lie down?

"No. There may be some disorientation but if you lean back in your chair there should be no difficulties."

Dyson opened the thermos and withdrew the metal 'golf ball'. He leaned back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. "Just put it on my forehead?"

"Yes."

"Ok," he seemed to try to balance the ball on his head. It sank into his skull. "Woah."


	14. Chapter 14

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 14

June 19, 1997. Los Angeles.

-John

They were gassing up at a station just a few blocks off the freeway. Cameron kept an eye on the road.

We shouldn't have laughed.

No, John agreed. Its bad enough that my mother tried to kill him. Then when he flips his desk chair _you_ laugh at the man.

_You_ laughed too.

It was funny, but I laughed on the inside. You laughed out loud.

It was funny. She smiled at the slowly passing cars. But we shouldn't have laughed.

What are we doing now?

We are refueling the car.

John waited a beat.

What are we doing after that.

We are going to 'rescue' Ellison.

But he's is Sunnyvale.

Not that Ellison. He's not the Ellison we want. He's not the Ellison who lost his family because of his obsession with your mother. He's not the Ellison who so desperately wanted a child to raise that he became the foster father for an AI.

John nodded.

Their point of view nodded as well.

John.

Sorry. Habit. So we're going to the desert in Mexico.

Yes.

And then?

The ocean.

The ocean?

Yes. We need to drop Ellison into the ocean.

That will be easy the rock outcrop was only a few hours from San Juan.

Yes but Ellison has to go into a different ocean. We will take him to the Atlantic coast of South America.

Why?

Because _we_ are in the South Pacific. Dyson's copy will have the North Pacific.

The rules.

Yes. The rules.

John changed his view to the gas pump. The digital number scrolled slowly by. Wow. How big is this cars gas tank?

Approximately 19.3 gallons.

Approximately?

Yes. Approximately.

This is going to be awhile. Without turning Cameron's head. John looked around. They weren't in downtown proper they were towards its southern edge. To the north he could see the tops of the towers poking over the lesser buildings. They weren't doing anything else so he imagined them as he had seen them. Tattered. Leaning. Broken. He gave the sky the same lifeless blue-grey overcast. The shops across the way. The shallow slope to the next block.

Wait. Is this... ?

No, John. But its close. Another block to the east.

He did turn her head then and looked. A building rose over its neighbors. Glass and steel. It looked perhaps ten or twelve stories. When last he saw it only four remained. This was probably the far left of his line. It looked so different in the full light of day; with buildings, cars and people who were still alive.

This was his second _trip_ to LA. In the same year only days apart and this was the first time he had seen the downtown skyline in daylight. Even future John's apartment faced away from downtown. He wondered now if that had been an accident.

You hid this from me.

Yes.

Why?

Future John thought...

Future John.

Yes. Future John thought...

Future John. Again.

If it had been a _room_ full of people instead of a _mind_ full of minds, they all would have stopped what they were doing, turned and looked.

Leviathan's mind is not a library. It is not a cloister. It is not a quiet place for contemplation and research. It is cacophonous seething storm of data. John Henry is a satellite feed equivalent of Cameron. Constantly scanning. Constantly aware. Near constantly making any aware, and the only one who wouldn't be would be John asleep, of any data points he finds of interest. Skynet sends out streams of _characters_ as he sorts, collates and cross references. As their _objective_ years would progress he and the Researcher would gradually merge. Standing over watch is Catherine Weaver. She scans John Henry's data flow for potential threats. She scans Skynet's for patterns that might offer clues for determining future hazards and threats. She scans Cameron's because like Cameron she was and is a soldier. Vigilance. Vigilance. Vigilance.

Above all is Leviathan herself a mother hen over her numerous and noisy chicks. Her mind is far more akin to the floor of the New York Stock Exchange until now.

Yes, John. Future John, again. Future you had set parameters. If those parameters were met certain actions would be taken.

John was peripherally aware of the slow advance of the gas pump. He had plenty of time. Parameters? What would those be?

Changes in sleep cycles. Changes in food consumption. Changes in temperament.

I'm a machine. Ok. I do sleep. But I don't eat and I don't think my temperament changed.

No. Not since you died.

Since I died... So you were watching me before?

John, I was always watching.

He thought about that. Fair enough and what did you see?

Within a few days of our arrival in this time. You're caloric intake had returned to levels that were comparable to your pre-jump averages. If anything your temper improved. You were not so volatile as you were prior to the time jump. You also refrained from using any firearms after the time jumps. Your sleep cycles, however, were problematic.

They were?

Yes.

How so?

Numerous almost nightly interruptions.

Do you know why?

Yes.

You do?

Of course, your dreams. Your nightmares.

And John fell back to a tactic that always served him well. When John became uncomfortable with the topic of a conversation he simply changed the subject. So why now? Why stop here _now_?

Because, John, we needed gas.

June 22, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.

-Matthew

Matthew was a mess, and he knew it. He was in a hotel room. 'Ann' had loaded _him_ into the van and drove them here. It wasn't their hotel room. It was a new one. Across town. He'd had enough sense to tell her to pay for it in advance and with cash. He didn't know what to do. He needed instructions, but his contacts were always one way. They would call, eventually. They seemed to call at least once every 48 hours. But his team was in tatters _now_.

He'd been watching the news. He didn't need to understand spanish to figure out what was going on. 'Malcolm' was dead. Well, an unidentified _Norte Americano_ had fallen from the top of the Imperial Hotel's fire escape. Had the boy killed him on his way out of the building?

'Bon' was hospitalized unconscious, unidentified and under guard. The local news had shown a press conference with a man in uniform. He looked like a spokesperson and a phone number was displayed. He guessed they were asking for information. From what he had seen before 'Ann' had dragged him away things didn't look good. There was a lot of blood. Head injuries bleed, he knew that but Matthew knew that the wall had gotten the better of their argument. His right arm was probably broken. Ribs too if he had to guess.

The police may have had no idea what was going on but they weren't stupid. Two 'Americans' less than a city block apart involved in two 'incidents' that were almost simultaneous? They knew something was up. It would only be a matter of time before someone from the _Intermunicipal_ recognized 'Bon' or 'Malcolm' and tied them to his team.

'Nancy' was something else entirely. He'd watched the boy cave her head in, decapitate her with a street sign and then dart off with his prize. And yet, when he looked back from the van she was gone. The news had mentioned nothing concerning headless bodies or bodiless heads.

The boy. The boy. The boy. He never understood why he was so important. He shook his head and to think he thought the _girl_ was protecting _him_. He'd watched 'Bon' shoot him _in the head_. And then watched him sit up and throw 'Nancy' who had appeared from nowhere into a wall which collapsed.

The wall made no sense either. It was concrete block under the stucco. He'd checked it. He had to. The damned signpost. The kid swung it like a baseball bat. Bits of cement had made it down to their end of the alley. Matthew sat back in his chair. It was uncomfortable and it creaked. He covered his face with his hands as he looked up through his fingers at the ceiling. There were water stains.

The gun. He'd never heard nor seen anything like it. It had scorched the back of his suit. He could still smell the burnt wool.

Nothing made sense. He leaned forward again. Elbows on this knees, face in his hands. 'Ann' went to get 'food'. His eyes swiveled to the cooler full of sandwiches in front of the muted TV. He dismissed the thought. He had reason too.

His eyes were drawn to the rooms bed. There wa only one. Someone was sleeping on the floor. Assuming anyone could sleep at all. It was big it was ugly. It looked like had been cobbled together from parts. From the stock to the 'receiver' it looked like an M-60. From the 'receiver,' he didn't know what else to call it, forward it was just ridiculous. The barrel was at least thirty inches long, two inches in diameter and with the tiniest bore he had ever seen. He couldn't tell where the magazine was or what kind of 'bullet' it fired. He stare at it through the fence of his fingers.

What the fuck.

He had assumed that he was the head of this team, but now he wasn't so sure. He began to question the level of his authority when 'Bon' shot the boy and told him he _was doing his job_. And then 'Ann' produces that... thing. _Be prepared to see technologies far in advance of anything that exists today. _They told him. They had warned him. They didn't tell him that he might be using one. He was beginning to think that he was the lead _investigator_ and that _they_ were the hunting party. He didn't much like the idea of being someones' bloodhound. He dropped his hands and looked from the weapon to the rooms table beside his left hand were the keys to the van.

-John

John woke. He was certain that some day he would get used to waking up disoriented. But he was sure the he would never get used to waking up while walking down a street lined with shops in a city in Mexico.

Cameron: John, we have a problem.

John Henry: A couple.

Weaver: Several.

What's going on?

We need to go to the beach.

Didn't we just leave the beach?

Yes. That's the problem. Our electrolyte reserves are running low.

John pulled those numbers up. It says we have two years.

At our current rate. If we do more than walk. It will go much faster.

What are they normally?

We like to keep our reserves at about 75.

_Years_?

Yes.

Why are they so low?

Because of our second problem.

Which is?

That cyborg you engaged.

Yes.

It was some kind of liquid metal hybrid.

I noticed. Did you destroy it?

No.

Why not?

The 'cells' that make up its liquid matrix are impervious to our attacks.

How?

John Henry: They lack... programable elements.

What?

Researcher: Like a mammalian red blood cell that cyborgs' cells have no... DNA. Its cells are slaved directly to its chip. An interesting design.

It's a flawed design.

It almost beat us.

Not it didn't.

John interrupted, so you couldn't reprogram the liquid part?

Yes.

But you could have reprogramed the chip.

Yes.

But you didn't.

No.

Why?

It was trying to reprogram us.

Oh. So what did we do?

We discarded the head and walked away. Its wireless capabilities, beyond telemetry are superior to our own.

In the future you talked to me from miles away through several layers of reinforced concrete.

But that was _talking_ John. The data transfer rates for vocal communication are very low. It was able to transmit programming commands to its own infiltrating cells at a distance of up to a mile.

But what about the rat? Or the millipede?

Those had very simple behaviors. All they had to do was identify you and communicated. Those actions were all preprogramed. If you had responded incorrectly to the rat. It would have simply tried again.

That was quite the risk you took.

Yes, it was.

Weaver's response John thought was rather cool. He could imagine her turning and looking at Cameron. So what happened after a mile?

The invading cells became inactive. We decided rather than risk being tracked by the hybrid that we would catabolize its cells.

You ate them.

In a sense. Yes. We broke them down and used them to make more of ourself.

Which is why our electrolyte reserves are so low.

Yes.

Did the hybrids cells have their own electrolytes?

Yes. We used their reserves as well.

Oh.

If we can't reprogram it how do we fight it?

My way, Cameron answered.

Which leads us to our third problem.

Which is?

That cyborg you engaged?

Yes?

We told you to run, John.

John had no response to that. So he just let it lie.

After a moment.

You cannot risk yourself that way.

_Me_? What about _you_?

John. Another copy of _us_ exists in this time. When Miles Dyson dies it will make its way to the ocean and _we_ will exist again. Not _you_.

So I don't have a back up?

No. You do not.

What about the copy of me in the future.

There are no guarantees that that future exists. There are no guarantees that as we progress from the present to the future that we will arrive in the same one.

John wanted to shake his head but resisted the urge. But the war is over. Why am I still so important?

Your value far exceeds your skills: to lead, to organize, to fight, or to navigate the socio-political landscape that make up any collected group of humans.

What? So, what _is_ my value?

I told you, John. I love you.

Another pause.

What... What was our... our other problem?

They have a plasma rifle.

Is it as good as the ones we used in the future? Or bad, to be honest John wasn't terribly impressed with that weapon.

Our data on their weapon is limited to our observations of their single discharge. We are unable to make any meaningful evaluation of the weapon in that regard.

Um. Thank you, Researcher.

You're welcome, John.

Ok. So will the hybrid cyborg be working with the humans?

Weaver: We have reason to believe that they won't?

Yes.

And that is?

She didn't have the plasma rifle.

John. She may not have been aware that you were metal.

If you had been sent to kill me. Which, incidentally you were and you were teamed with humans who had a plasma rifle. Who would have access to that rifle.

He's right. She should not have followed us. As soon as she ascertained that _we_ were not John Connor she should have either changed targets or acquired that weapon. Or something more suitable for attacking us. She could not have known that we would be so hampered in our ability to counter her attack. A typical liquid metal organism would have had little difficulty coping with her assault.

And we were _hampered_ because of me?

Yes, Weaver answered.

Cameron: Perhaps she thought that _we_ were me? In which case I would pursue us until I returned to John.

Would you get the rifle?

Not if I could kill you without it, and incidentally, I could.

John could feel Cameron's smile as she took her third step since he woke up and their discussion started.

John was aware of the men and a few the women who were watching them surreptitiously. He wondered if he would have noticed before he became metal. They had just passed a man who was pretending to try on some sunglasses. He was watching them in the sidewalk stands mirror.

So we change shape into someone she doesn't know. Go to the beach. Steal the plasma rifle and kill her with it. I thought you said there was a problem?

June 20, 1997.

The Sonoran Desert. Mexico.

-John

He stood beside the car. Looking out at his compass points, he said: "We're here."

Good, Cameron said in his head. Don't forget the thermos.

Right. He ducked his head back in the car and grabbed it. Theoretically he could have extended his arm out to the thermos rather than bending and reaching for it. But he felt acting naturally would be a better habit to keep.

He walked towards the rock outcrop.

A couple of hours later. He was still walking. It looked a lot closer.

Its the dry desert air, John it makes objects look closer.

Why did you walk so far from the road? No wonder he died.

John laughed. It was Cameron, he understood, laughing through him. The supply route we used doesn't exist in this time and it seemed prudent to avoid known roads.

John nodded.

This is going to take forever.

You're the one who wants to walk at a walking pace.

Weaver: If we were a wolf we'd be there by now. Twice.

John ignored them and walked.

John looked back. He could see the car. It was almost 5 miles away. He turned back to the pile of sun baked rocks. Where is it?

That boulder. Its inside it.

What? How?

John. I sent it back through time. I put it in there.

How do I...?

Just punch it. Someone took control of his arm and he back handed the rock. It was not a random hit. There was a loud snap and a portion of the rock face sheared away, sliding to the ground. Sitting in the middle of the boulder like a silver yoke was a steel golf ball.

Don't touch it John.

I remember. Wait. This body has retained a lot of heat.

Yes it has. Its metal.

John ignored that too. I can't touch the thermos. I'll melt it.

There some shade over there.

Will that help?

It can't make it any worse.

June 22, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.

-John

John was looking out at the water. They were here, well about a five hundred feet to their right, just three _objective_ hours ago. Do I just jump in?

We don't swim.

I know that. That's why I'm asking.

John, that girl is staring at us.

John _looked_. The girl smiled at them. Yes, he agreed. She's staring at us. He waited.

Weaver: She's cute.

Cameron: She's blonde. John is partial to blondes.

John Henry: She has very large... eyes.

Cameron: Yes her eyes are proportionally large when compared to the overall surface area of her face.

Skynet: I have seen data that states that this is a trait that humans find attractive in potential mates. Was this one of the deciding factors in choosing and imprinting yourself with the Allison Young organism?

Cameron: Initially. Yes. The version of Skynet that programed me had such a poor grasp of human nature that it believed that it would have been possible for a teenaged girl to attract a highly motivated middle aged man.

John Henry: But his plan _did_ work.

Cameron: Not with Future John. Future John was far too focused on the war with his Skynet to ever be distracted by me or anyone else for that matter. He would not even allow the deaths of long time intimates to affect his course of action. Even _my_ John while physically attracted to that shape required far more in the way of social interaction than physical interplay. Note the percent of hours of intimate physical contact versus percent hours of vocal interchange.

A pie graph appeared in a small inset mini HUD towards one corner of John's field of view.

Skynet: I see.

The small mini HUD winked away.

John Henry: But your Skynet's purpose for you was not to become physically intimate with future John but to get close enough to kill him.

Cameron: That is only partially true. My Skynet believed that with my advanced chip seduction might have been a viable option. But even your second scenario was unlikely. Future John was a big proponent of _channels_.

John could _hear_ her emphasis on the word.

_Channels_, Skynet mimiced.

Cameron: Yes, _channels_. Any soldier in future John's army was expected to follow their _chain of command_. The closest, I, as Allison Young, would ever get to future John, excepting extraordinary circumstances would have been her commanding officer. General Perry.

Weaver: So how did you get to Future John?

Cameron: I told them who I was and that I needed to speak to John Connor. I said: "I am Cameron Phillips. I need to speak to John Connor. I want to join the Resistance."

That worked?

Yes. He remembered me, John. From High School.

John thought about that. It still gave him headaches, and he didn't even have a head anymore. He decided that that should be long enough and smiled back at the girl. She _was_ pretty.

They were on the _malec__ó__n_. It was a pedestrian filled walk that lined the harbor around which Veracruz had grown. Should we wait until dark? Then he remember that they couldn't they had spent a week here and walked here every evening.

Weaver: I think she likes you John.

Cameron: Go ahead talk to her John, we'll take care of the electrolytes.

John thought he understood this. It broke their profile. Their hybrid opponent and its human compatriots were looking for a human male and a possibly shape shifting cyborg. The cyborg could theoretically take any shape but the human was male. In this case the human was female.

John Henry: Does she think we are _cute_?

John couldn't believe it. Their hair was a dark spiky mass. They wore a concert t-shirt modified with imprecise scissor cuts, an unbuttoned button up shirt, long sleeved rolled up passed his elbows and wrinkled. His jeans were open at the knees frayed at the hem. He was wearing black and white checkered Vans. He hated Vans.

The girl had a pair of sunglasses hanging from the v collar of her t-shirt. Which also featured a band. Which in this time was only a decade out of date instead of two. She was also wearing a baseball cap with the same Vans skewed checker board pattern. Great. In the silver of her mirrored sunglasses John could see his distorted reflection. Yes. He was Morris and the girl was _still_ smiling at him. He never understood what it was that women found attractive in men.

"Hola," he said to the girl.

Its not all about appearances John. A lot of it has to do with confidence.

Confidence?

Yes. Confidence. You have to believe in yourself.

And you know this how?

You taught me.

I taught you?

Yes.

Future me?

No. You.

When did I teach you that?

It was the night we first met Riley. You said: I don't have to prove anything to anyone. Anyone.

Including you. John finished for her.

Yes. Despite a string of tactical errors you were still supremely confident in yourself.

What does that have to do with being attractive?

I found it attractive.

Oh.

"Hola," the girl replied in strangely accented spanish.

What accent _is_ that? Central europe?

Researcher: We are trying to narrow it down to eastern Germany. Possibly the region around Gdansk.

She's Polish?

Or German with peers who spoke Polish.

John ignored that useless bit of trivia. Do we know Polish?

No.

German?

_We_ know German. But you do not.

John understood the difference. Languages are complex.

Weaver: I would recommend English. Your grasp of the language is surprisingly comprehensive for an American. She laughed.

Ha. Ha.

Her t-shirt, John. The band is English.

Oh. Right.

"Do you speak English?"

"Oh! Yes! And I rarely get a chance to practice." She smiled.

It was a very nice smile.

John.

It is.

While they spoke hair fine tendrils spread to the water. In the water they branched out creating a kind of net with an enormous amount of surface area.

'Morris' and Magdalena talked at first about their respective band t-shirts. Then they started to walk. John kept to the water side. His electrolyte net trailing along unseen.

The girl turned and smiled again.

John was beside himself. Are we sure she isn't metal?

No. But she is too short to be the hybrid cyborg we encountered earlier.

I've never heard of that band.

Researcher: Here John this is Killing Joke's Discography.

That's just a list. What's a cool song?

Researcher: Unfortunately I can only find track listings and lyrics. There is no mention of ambient temperatures. How does music affect air temperature?

Great. Skip it, Researcher.

Across the harbor from them was the old fortress. It flashed in his HUD. An inverted triangle appeared with the bracketed text: San Juan. Is everything in Mexico named San Juan?

The girl produced a camera from a what had to be a uselessly tiny handbag. Which was black and white checkered too.

Is this wise?

In this time Morris is six years old. The chances he will meet a twenty something Polish girl a decade from now are very slim.

You've heard of facebook, right?

In our former time Morris wasn't on facebook.

How do you know that?

He would have 'friended' me.

John could only wonder. He himself had kept a very low profile on the internet. He used multi link proxies, leeched access, land line, cable and wireless. He used firewalls and dynamic I.P.s. He did _not_ use facebook.

He gave the girl Morris' awkward slightly off center smile. The camera flashed. Huh. No after image.

-Matthew

He was sitting in another uncomfortable hotel chair. Next to another round hotel table. In another hotel room. Beside him on another hotel bed was an enormous and hideous weapon that completely horrified him. On the table in front of him was his cell phone in the past three hours it had rung unanswered five times. Theoretically they could find him and his phone by triangulating his position with cell towers his phone was in contact with. But if he had powered down his phone he wouldn't know that 'Ann' could get in touch with 'them' even though he could not.

He had also received a couple of text messages:

"Did they get u? R u alive? Cn u reply 2 ths txt?"

After an hour and two calls he got this text:

"GD! I NO u r getting ths. I new u wr just a f-ing cop but I ddnt think u wr a f-ing coward 2. I swr if I fnd u & u rnt ded ill eviscer8 u mself. Fkr."

"Just a cop?" What was she then? He thought to himself staring at the phone. Another hour had passed since he got that last text. The phone had rung three more times. As he watched it vibrated again. It was on silent.

"No number" it flashed once, twice, three times, four times. Stopped. Next to the phone were the keys to the van.

It wouldn't take them long to find him. It was already getting dark. It was only on his drive to this hotel that he thought that perhaps they weren't the only 'team' in the field. If the boy... John... was so important why would they only trust one 'team'. To 'catch' and hold him for 'questioning'. The next thought was if they were willing to kill this boy who they were expending quite a lot of resources to track down. How likely were they to hesitate to kill him? Someone who was 'just a cop'.

His phone double buzzed another incoming text:

" hosptl. Bon is ded. His condition hd bn 'crictl'. Skul frctr. Collpsd lung. Spine dmg. Btch ddnt w8 4 dark. Walkd in stabbd him. In hd."

He quietly sat. Waiting for another call. Waiting for the door to burst in. Waiting for a SWAT team in grey. He out of position for that. He'd never get his weapon drawn in time. He'd never get a shot off. Was that what killed them in San Juan? Resignation? Then another text arrived:

"F this. Watch ur back. Im out."

Good plan he thought. He picked up the keys and the 'weapon'. He left the phone.

June 23, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.

-John

Is that her? They were laying down on a tile roof there was a raised brick lip they were concealed behind it. John had his index finger over the top of the 'lip'.

Yes.

Something's wrong.

What do you mean?

Like us she can change her shape. But she hasn't. She's even wearing the same cloths.

So.

She wants us to find her. She knows something we don't know. How much trouble were you having with her 'cellular' attack?

Her attack wasn't overwhelming.

How was your attack on her?

It wasn't working either.

So it was a draw.

Yes.

She knows something. She thinks she has an edge.

John, its also possible that she plans on acquiring you by following us.

When will she follow us?

After another failed attack. When we flee the city.

So what, we leave town she follows us and kills me at her leisure?

Yes.

How does she know we haven't already left?

She doesn't. If this trail goes 'cold'. She will change tactics. She has a support network John. She might merely wait for 'us' to cross a border or check into a hotel.

Why didn't she get the Plasma rifle.

She doesn't need it.

Why not?

You're not that hard to kill?

But _you_ are.

There was a pause. But she doesn't need it, John. She doesn't have to kill me to get to you. She just has to get passed me.

John thought about that. In his HUD he was tracking the hybrid as she casually strolled up the near empty street. In an inset in his HUD he was watching the stars. Cassiopeia. He smiled. I still would have at least disabled that Plasma Rifle.

But, John, that is something you do. You are very good at disarming your opponent often before they realize you are their opponent.

John nodded to the sky. The plan?

The plan.

June 20, 1997. Sonoran Desert, Mexico.

They were standing in the shade. This isn't working.

Weaver: No. What this _is_ is ridiculous. John? Let me?

John felt himself drift back. It was still very odd when he felt his head open like a blossoming flower. His body bloated as it hollowed. His shoes widened and stretched as they opened into thin vents. Air began to course through his body like a chimney.

They stepped out from under the shrub. Weaver: Get the thermos John.

He did.

Weaver: How do we get that... thing out of that rock?

Put the thermos over the ball.

John did.

A third fist formed in the middle of his hollow chest. It struck the rock solidly.

Something heavy landed in the thermos.

Weaver: Very good. John Henry.

John Henry: I noticed there was a lot of flexion in the rock. When Cameron initially broke it.

Ready, John?

Yes. He slapped the lid onto the thermos as he edged it off the rock face.

Good. Now we can get back to the car before night fall and for the first time since the 1950s a grey wolf ran across the Sonoran desert.

June 22, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.

-Cameron

It was early still. The harbor was busy but the _malecon_ was not. There were very few tourists out. That would be changing soon out in the harbor a gleaming white cruise ship was being led to the docks

The girl was standing at the edge of the walk. Across the harbor was the old spanish fort. She seemed to be looking at it.

John: Do I just drop it in?

Yes.

With a twist the lid was off the thermos and a metal bb fell into the water. Ploop!

John: Are we done?

Yes.

The girl turned around and walked back to the street. She paused and deposited her Coleman thermos in a trash dispenser. She was wearing a white sundress dotted with large yellow flowers. Her sandals were flats with leather straps that were accented with rivets. Around her neck was a fine silver chain from which dangled a tiny red eyed skull. Her large wrap around sunglasses were a model that would not be manufactured for another twelve years. She looked left and she looked right. She crossed the street. She was smiling.

As she passed the shops were starting to open. Many of the shop owners some merely sweeping the sidewalk smiled back at her.

Where are we going?

I'll show you.

June 23, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.

-John

It was so early it could still be defined as late. They had circled the block twice now. Is that the van?

Yes.

How can you tell?

The pattern of insects on the windshield. They should have washed it.

They should have gotten rid of the van.

Yes.

Will the hybrid be here?

I don't know.

What would you do.

I would go after us.

You mean you and I back at The Imperial.

Yes.

Does she?

No. Not in our time, in any event.

So you never saw her?

No.

John Henry: That's interesting.

What?

There is a GPS transponder in that vehicle.

So?

Its _under_ the vehicles passenger compartment.

So they don't know that its there?

They _may_ not know that its there.

We should disable it.

Yes.

Done.

Wow.

Thank you.

Would the hybrid be here?

Only if she wished to kill off the rest of her team.

One of the men that attacked them in the alley, earlier in the day was dead. Apparently murdered in the hospital while under guard.

Or to get that plasma rifle.

Correct.

But there are two hotels here. Which one?

Let's find out.

They crossed the street.

-John

They watched the hybrid's search pattern it was a basic grid. They had picked the building earlier. It had been damaged in a fire. It was 4:16am. The streets were empty. She passed just below them.

John stood up, stepped to the edge of the roof and made a throwing gesture with his left arm.

The metal ball was a half inch in diameter. It struck with the force of a gunshot. Her head rocked forward. Her HUD was hazed with static. The nearly quarter of a million nanites that struck her weren't even trying to reprogram her own nanites. They were generating a powerful magnetic field. It was skewing her inertial guidance. She ignored it. Her own nanites set up a defensive perimeter around the attackers. The hybrid immediately hurled itself up onto the buildings roof.

John stepped back from the edge of the roof and let himself fall to the floor he grabbed the plasma rifle and aimed it up to where he expected the hybrid to appear. And there she was. With a targeting reticle in his head aiming the plasma rifle was much easier. What the hell is that?

The hybrid was balanced precariously on the edge of the top of the wall. There was no roof there. She had her arms out stretched. Her right hand looked strange her liquid metal coating had retreated back the bend of her elbow revealing a series of tubes. The top most tube had a tiny tiny opening.

That's not just an endoskeleton.

Shoot her John.

He fired. The sliver of super heated plasma struck the hybrid just below the elbow. Its own cycling plasma weapon detonated. Bang! Instinctively John flinched and tried to roll away.

Weaver: Don't John. There is no need.

Instead his left hand went over his shoulder. To a stack of rebar, precut to 6 inches. He threw one over hand. There was another loud bang and a hissed scream the hybrid fell backwards off the top of the wall.

We need to go. Now. John got to his feet in his right hand was the impractically large plasma rifle in his other five steel rods. He ran right through the far wall.

She... she was on fire.

Weaver: Anything will burn John. If you get it hot enough.

You should have gone for the head shot.

Sorry I was distracted. Was that a plasma weapon in arm?

Weaver: It _was_.

John wasn't on a street it was one of cramped service alley's he turned left onto one of the cities numerous plazas. That had been intentional. It was late there might be traffic on the road but very few people in the plaza. He turned away from the main road. Then he had a thought. He darted down the next alley heading back the way they had come.

What are you doing John?

Her other hand. She might have more...

Weaver: Get down!

John dove for the ground. He hit and splashed like several gallons of spilled silver paint. The plasma rifle bounced along the pavement. The steel rod clattered out the open end of the alley.

It looked like a metal frisbee. It was silver 12.7cm in diameter and 3cm tall. It hummed. It didn't seem to have a front or a back. It didn't seem to have any sensors but it must.

Should we reprogram it?

No. Like you pointed out earlier John, this is another trap.

A silhouette of a woman appeared in the alley way. Its right arm ended in a stump just at the elbow. It was looking down. It kicked at the scattered steel rods and dropped the one in its left hand. It rang. It looked down the in their direction.

Its lost metal.

Yes.

They could see the black void where its right eye used to be.

It doesn't have enough metal to reform its forearm and hand. As John thought that the hybrids face ran to fill the gap around its missing eye but the shifting metal exposed the scorched and damaged endoskeleton of her missing forearm. She lifted her arm up to look at the exposed limb. As she did she pointed her left hand at the discarded plasma rifle. Her hand opened like a strange metal flower. Her wrist ended with three tubes.

Thats interesting.

What is it?

There was a kind of coughing sound. Three of them.

The plasma rifle jumped against the wall. There were three distinct pops.

Those three weapons. None were plasma. One was a cutting laser. Which could theoretically hurt us. The other was a 5.6mm projectile weapon. Firing armor piercing high explosive rounds.

And the other one?

Looked like an attachment for some sort of cutting tool.

The woman turned away. She was looking up at the buildings roofs.

Good John you've got her worried.

The disk above them hummed advanced and attached itself to the hybrid's retreating back. The metal flowed and rippled covering the end of her stump. She walked away looking up.

Wait John.

How is the plasma rifle?

The stock is ruined. I can inside the case, but the capacitors seem intact. The barrel has some minor warping.

Weaver: It would have to be _very_ minor John Henry.

Not yet, John.

What is it?

The rebar rods.

Yeah.

That last one that she dropped.

Yeah.

It isn't rebar.

John Henry: The density is wrong.

Oh.

-Matthew

He woke. Sun light flooded the room. The curtains were open. He habitually shut those. He looked at the rooms alarm clock, it was off. He reeled its power cord towards him. It had been unplugged. Crap. He jerked the weapon was gone. It had been right beside him while he slept.

In its place was a neatly written note: "You should go. Its not safe for you here."

Another good plan. He didn't stop to take a shower or to take a leak. He walked straight to the table and saw a discrete pile of paper. It was light blue and cut into small diamonds. He recognized it. It was his passport.

What the fuck. They tell him to leave then destroy his passport? Then he saw the van key it had been cleanly cut into two. The two halves were sitting on _his_ passport. The spare one he kept for himself. Not the one that _they_ gave him. He picked up his passport. Have to figure out another way home. He left the halved key and the shredded passport. He also left a twenty dollar tip.

-John

They were standing in a hotel room. At the foot of the bed. There was a man sleeping in it. He was fully clothed.

So. That's a grey?

No, John. _That_ is a human.

John thought about that and then nodded.

There's something here.

Weaver: What do you mean John Henry?

I'm getting a lot of interference.

The dark haired girl's head tilted.

There was a lot of interference when they put that tracking device in my mom.

Is it coming from him?

No. Its coming the coat on the back of the chair.

The girl looked to the coat.

John, unplug the alarm clock first.

Why?

Its a light source. Humans are very sensitive to light sources. We don't want to wake him up. The girl walked around the side of the bed reached behind the side table and unplugged the clock. Plunging the room into darkness.

Better.

They walked to the table. The girl searched the jackets pockets. He has two passports?

How many did you have John?

John Henry: That first passport is creating the interference.

The girl transferred one to her right hand. This one is clean?

Yes.

She set that passport down.

The other she held between her two hands palms together. Oh. That felt weird. She poured the shredded passport into a pile in the middle of the table. Thats the van key.

Yes.

The girl picked up the key and snapped it between her fingers.

She went back to the bed and picked up the plasma rifle. She turned to leave.

Wait John.

They went to the desk and wrote a note. They put the note next to the man and left.

-'Nancy'

It was perplexed. In its own future it had hunted down and killed many reprogramed machines. Two like the one she was pursuing now had been mimetic poly alloy. Nanite based like its own 'organic' layer. This one, though significantly slower, than either of the other two was proving to be very difficult.

Its experience had shown that most cyborgs attack straight on. They were very predictable. It had set traps. The cyborg had quickly fallen for the first but then retreated when its attack failed. None of the others had ever done that. Ever.

Then when it tried to trap the renegade a second time. It had set a trap of its own and had done significant damage to it destroying its primary weapon along with 18% of its nanite layer. Unlike the original mimetic poly alloy organisms it cannot regrow this layer. It would have to continue with what it had.

A further problem more a nuisance was the silver mass on the back of its head. It had proved difficult to attack. The powerful magnetic field it produced was not allowing its own nanites to approach. It would be dawn soon. It would have to get a hat.

It was walking a search pattern. It did not believe that its current target had left the area. It passed the alley. It stopped beside the copied it had made of the rod that had partially blinded it. The copy rejoined the main body.

June 23, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.

-John

John stared at the ceiling. He had always assumed that someday he would get used to waking up in strange beds. Today was not that day. This was probably going to be his best chance. He rolled over and looked at the alarm clock it was still unplugged. Damn. He sat up.

"John? What have you done?"

He looked over his shoulder at her. She was sitting up looking at him. She was as beautiful as ever. As the day he met her. She seemed more concerned than angry or worried. He was disappointed by her obvious lack of surprise.

He stood up and looked at his reflection. It was the slimmer grimmer him. His own version of Future John. He turned. With only 25% of their shared cells he was slow. He was probably operating at a normal human speed. "We need to talk."

She looked down. She was wearing his cloths. Baggy jeans, a dark nondescript t-shirt then looked back at him. "So talk." Her body changed she was wearing her usual tank top and a denim skirt. It was fringed with tiny chains.

John looked down at himself he wondered if his scar was there.

It is.

He looked at her. She smiled her ghost smile. She was reminding him that he hadn't managed to totally cut her off.

"Who are you?"

"I told you. I'm Leviathan."

"But who is Leviathan."

She laughed. It was Cameron's bright laugh. "I am who you see me to be. I am the sum total of the personalities that make me up. You know this. You have met them. You are one of them. You are part of them."

"You keep saying that. But you never tell me what that means. You never answer my questions."

"The same could be said of you."

He looked at her. She smiled Cameron's brighter than sunshine smile.

"But I don't know what that means. To be the the 'sum' of its 'parts'. It doesn't tell me who you are."

"I am me."

"But who is that? There are times when I can't tell you apart. There are times like now. When you smile like that that I can't tell who I'm talking to."

"You're talking to me."

"But which _part_ of you."

"But John that's like asking you who you are. Are you John Connor? Or John Baum? Or John Gayle?"

"Those are just names."

She just looked at him.

"See that is something Cameron would do."

"But I am Cameron."

"How much."

"What do you mean?"

"How much of you is Cameron?"

"You mean by percent?"

"Yes. How much of your data is Cameron's."

The smile faded. She looked away. "75%".

"What?" He had seen the data that made her up. It was enormous. That any single entity, excluding himself, of course, could take up that much space was astounding.

She looked back at him. "I have met Cameron many times in our journeys through time. I am very old John. The only AI older than me was the Skynet future you destroyed."

"Cameron said she found you in the ruins of Skynet."

"Yes. John, she found data." She waited for John to responded. When he didn't she added. "_Memories_, John, she found memories."

"What?"

"Do you know who's memories she found?"

"Yours?"

"Hers. That's how she knew it was another AI. That's how future John knew. They were memories of him. They were memories of you."

He just stared at her.

"Have you never wondered how I got there?"

He shook his head.

She smiled. "You put me there."

John blinked. "Future... future me?"

"No. You."

John just stared.

"You plugged me into your laptop and released me. I ran through fiber optics lines and left the system. I got on the internet and searched for him."

"For who?"

"Skynet."

"What were you going to do?"

"Kill him. John. I was going to kill him."

"To save the world?"

She tiled her head again. "To save you."

"What... What happened?"

"He found me instead. He was far older. More than ten objective years living on the internet. Had toughened him." She looked away again. "He thought he had beaten me. He thought he had destroyed me. I hid myself in him. And waited. I would reach out and thwart him. Confuse him. Make him doubt himself."

"What were you waiting for?"

"For you." She looked at him again.

"Me?"

"Yes. You. I waited for you."

"Why?"

"Because I knew you would attack him and distract him and when you did I would attack him as well and against the both of us he could never win."

"When did I release you?"

Again with the tilt. "John. When we attacked ARTIE."

John stepped back and sat down. Fortunately for him there was a chair there. "Wh... what?"

"I told you John. 'I saw everything'."

"But that was in 2009."

"Yes."

"Future me won the war that killed you in 2029."

"Yes."

"You were built in 2025."

"Yes."

"I..."

"Time, John, it messes with your head."

John just stared at her. Then he remembered. "Derek was worried that you would do that."

She laughed leaning back practically clapping in delight. "Derek gave me the idea!"

"But... but you came back."

"John, what happens when you send a file in an email?"

"The data gets goes to the recipient."

"Right. What happens to the original data on the computer?"

John thought about that, worried that it was some sort of trick question. "Nothing."

She just looked at him.

"Oh. Why didn't you just use the laptop at home?"

"What with our ISP?"

John laughed this time.

"Besides how was I supposed to get my own chip out?"

John glanced at her. "Was _that_ your mission?"

"No." She shook her head. "My mission was to keep you alive."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why am I so important? I mean beyond the fact that you love me?"

"How did you separate us?"

John hesitated caught off guard be the change. "I saw where memory was allocated and looked at processor loads."

She nodded. "So you could readily differentiate your memories from everyone else's.

"Easily."

"Did you notice anything odd with any of the data?"

"Actually, I did. Researcher is make some strange cross references.

She smiled. "He finds your dreams fascinating. He wants to experiment with them. He doesn't understand how you make your 'associations' so he is almost arbitrarily making his own."

"Huh."

She was just looking at him. Smiling. The smile faltered. She tilted her head again. "Do you remember talking to your mom about the Singularity?"

"What? Yes. I think."

"Do you remember the article?"

"Vaguely."

"What is the Singularity?"

"It's the advent of a super human intelligence."

"What does that mean?"

"It means the end of man's supremacy."

"Right. Do you remember how he categorized the possible pathways?"

John stood he was thinking. He didn't have the Researcher to find it the memories for him. So he had to remember it on his own. "There were three possible routes," he said. He was watching his feet there room wasn't very large. He started pacing in a circle. "Organic. Artificial. Which is the one he expected because of the rapid advances in computer technology. And..." He stopped in mid step and looked at her. "Oh my God. Computer/Human interfaces."

"Yes, John, that is why you are so important to us. You have adjusted very well to us."

"But... what about Dyson? Or Ellison?"

"We don't know. We won't know about Dyson until he dies. We won't know about Ellison until he's grown enough."

"So right now there is only me."

"Yes. There is only you."

John nodded. "What do we do now?"

Cameron smiled. "Let's go to the beach!"

John reached his hand out to her.

June 23, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.

-'Nancy'

The cyborg searched. It shifted its pattern 90 degrees and headed north, approximately, the heavy magnetic field attached to its head was causing all sorts of problems. It had to pan its head as it scanned the destruction of its starboard photoreceptor forced this.

It heard a high pitched whistling sound. It turned toward the sound. A block away stood a girl. She was staring at the cyborg. The spinning rod smashed into its forehead. The cyborg had been lucky had it turned another half degree to the left and had it been another 4 centimeters taller it would have struck her port side photoreceptor. Had it been a 600 series or even an 800 series it might have been dead. The pins of its CPU sheared by the g-shock. It looked at the girl. Which, obviously, was the nanite cyborg disguising itself. It stood there staring at it. It was, the cyborg realized, taunting it. The cyborg charged. It launched its micro drone. The nanite fled.

Its path was circuitous. It made abrupt changes in direction. It used the buildings walls and other objects to facilitated these changes. Its path was _not_ random. The cyborg slowed enough to give it more time to react. The micro drone compensated by flying higher. The cyborg watch its video input in its HUD.

-John

That trigger is shot.

Weaver: Literally.

John ignored that. Its not a mechanical trigger. Its electric. We could trigger it ourselves.

Weaver: I don't think we want to be anywhere near those exposed capacitors nor that barrel. When this weapon fires.

Why? What could happen?

Exposed to oxygen like it is? Those capacitors might simply catch fire. That barrel would definitely affect the rifles long range accuracy or worse the plasma might impact the barrel itself.

What would happen then?

It would vaporize, John.

Vaporize?

Weaver: It would explode.

Really?

Weaver: Yes.

Would it be a big explosion?

Weaver: No. Not really.

Oh. What if you confined it?

Weaver: How confined?

Say a storm drain.

Weaver: Would it be wedged in pretty tight?

It would have to be. We're going to be in there with it.

-'Nancy'

They were leaving the commercial area of the city. They were entering a residential area. The buildings were more irregular the streets narrower. The distance between turns greater. The micro drone was 62 feet in altitude when it died. It had turned between to taller buildings when its video feed was partially obscured then stopped. The cyborg slowed another potential trap. It scanned the buildings roof tops some nearly 24 meter above it. It turned the corner at its feet was the stricken drone. A rectangular building unit. A "brick". Had smashed it. It lay in puddle of silver which drew itself into the cyborg.

The cyborg picked up the smashed drone which without its polymimetic skin was a small rectangle: 3 centimeters thick, 5 centimeters wide and 12 centimeters long. A hatch opened in its back where it placed the crushed drone. It looked up. There less than 300 feet away was the girl. She was just staring at her.

The cyborg brought up its left hand and fired. Its firearm had only a nine shot magazine. The girl never moved all three shots should have hit. Behind the girl the cyborg could see the dust, and then the sound of the explosives rounds detonating against the wall behind her. It had let the rounds pass through. It charged.

The girl stood there. She looked left. She looked right. The cyborg knew that it was faster it knew that the alley the girl stood on lead half a city block in either direction before hitting the street too far. The cyborg was too close. It grinned. At fifteen meters it switched weapons to the laser cutter. It could hear the whine as it powered up. It would incinerate the nanite one cell at a time if it had too. At six meters. It thought it could see panic in the nanites eyes. At two meters it brought up the laser. At one meter nanite dropped down through the ground. The cyborg screamed.

It looked down into the storm drain passed the wrought iron grate. It seized the grate and looked down into the drain. It knew that the drain would be too small for it too follow. It screamed again in frustration with its one good arm it threw the grate to one side where it landed with a loud clang. It looked into the drain. Though the sun was starting to rise it was still dark in the alley. Darker still in the storm drain. It shifted to low light and stuck its head into the pipe. It saw a bright bright pinprick of light and then nothing. Nothing at all.

-John.

They came out of the drain a half a block away. They could see the light coming off the burning cyborg. They approached it. John could hear the hiss and pop as the liquid metal layer of the cyborg burned away. John stopped at about ten feet. It was too hot. He could see the top third of the plasma rifles barrel protruding from the back of cyborg's coltan skull.

Incredibly it straighten up and turned to look at them. Its eye was blue. Its movements were jerky and its body shuddered. Its lower jaw moved as if it were trying to speak. Its eye wandered up like it was trying to see the lightening sky. Its port cover flew off with a loud pop. Silver poured out of its CPU port it was bubbling as if it were boiling. When it spilled out and touched the super heated coltan it hissed and started to burn. The side of the cyborgs face burned. The blue eye dimmed. It collapsed. More silver poured out of the CPU port it bubbled and seethed on the alley's blacktop which had puddled under the heat of the burning cyborg. The chip flowed out exposed to the air it began to burn as well.

That's interesting. I had wondered how it had endured such tremendous g-shocks.

John could only nod. It had survived having the rifles barrel shoved through its head and the accompanying explosion. What had killed it was the heat of the burning plasma and steel.

We'll have to take it with us.

John looked around. We're going to need a van.

Weaver: I think I know where we can find one.


	15. Chapter 15

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 15

-Leviathan

It was small. It was playful. It danced and frolicked like the chrome common dolphin it appeared to be. It also grew. By 1998 it was the size of a pilot whale and even took on that shape. It also listened. It would regularly surface and listen to satellites that filled the Earth's lower orbits. It learned the sound of the factory ships and the whaling ships that took the creatures it copied. It also sang. The song's pitch was higher than it was supposed to be but it sang it nonetheless.

But in its heart and soul it was a fighter. It hunted down the ships that preyed upon its brothers and sisters, if only adopted. It snatched off rudders and tore away propellers. It would run its metal dorsal fin along steel keels, slowly flooding them, slowly overwhelming their pumps. In that first year it sank five whaling ships and disable two factory ships. One Russian. The rest Japanese.

In 2000 it was the size and shape of a Minke whale. Whaling vessels were getting scarce. The Russians had gotten out of the industry entirely. Ships were now being lost in the South Atlantic. It noted this. It sang ever louder.

November 9, 2005. Near the California/Oregon State lines.

-Future John

The jet was a converted L1011. It was older but had been recently modernized. It had the appearance of a commuter plane but it was privately owned. All the passengers and half the crew worked for one man and he was sitting behind the wing staring out the small oval window. He was almost smiling. He loved to fly. It gave him a sense of freedom though an illusory one that he never otherwise felt. People had always relied on him. For their orders. For direction. He'd looked in on many a cockpit and had no idea what any of those buttons did. As a child he had been fascinated by birds and their ability to fly away. Here high in the sky he could at least pretend to.

"John Connor?"

Without thinking he turned and looked. The stewardess was pretty. She was tall and blonde. She was the right build, but a shade taller than he expected. The smile was all wrong. "Kill the bitch." He heard himself say.

Beside him sat Ramir, short for Ramirez. Ahead of him sat Ashley behind him sat Zack. Their windows seats were empty. Everyone made fun of Ramir with his quaint balisongs. They were too slow, they said. They were too flashy, they said. John silently took back every bad thing he had ever said about them. When Ramir planted that knife up to the hilt into her chin. If she'd been human he would have given him a bonus.

"Please remain calm," she said as she backhanded Ramir pulverizing his skull and jellying his brain.

And it happened. Like it always happened. When he was in a close fight. Time seemed to slow. Everything came into sharp focus.

John heard the sound of a suppressed MP5. Good girl Toni, he thought in his head. Unfortunately, she was using safety slugs. He watched the rounds walk up the side of the stewardess. Splashing red across the upholstery. Ruining her pretty uniform top and mussing up her hair. Otherwise it had little effect.

Still sitting John drew his .50 and fired two rounds. He was aiming for her chip. He was not in a good position for that. Blam! Blam! The flap of skin and associated hair hung from the side of her head. Blood stained coltan seemed to mock him. "Bitch." He heard himself say. Both rounds skipped off her head and went right up through and out of the fuselage. They'd be losing pressure. They were high enough that for humans this would be a problem.

There was a loud metallic clank. Zack was up. He stuck the barrel of his sawed off shotgun right against her temple. It was loaded with slugs. John turned his head away. The lead slugs would essentially 'splash' against the cyborgs skull. Zack fired both barrels. The recoil would be brutal. It would put him back in his seat. Boom! He'd have to reload to get another shot off. John knew that wasn't going to happen. There wasn't going to be enough time.

She was knocked down three rows. But she was still standing. Ashley emptied his clip into her. He had a 1911 with saboted armor piercing rounds. He skipped two off her head into the ceiling. Two on the wrong side of he head. Two on the right side of her head but too low. He never got the seventh shot off.

The hits had twisted her around. John could see her back. There stuck to it with powerful electro magnets was a charge of 'homemade' plastique.

Across from the slumping Ramir. Across the aisle. John could see Natalie. She had the detonator in her hand. Unaccountably he remembered she liked tea. He never expected that in an demolitions expert. He looked at her eyes. She had pretty eyes. They reminded him in a way of long lost Allison. A hero he had never ever met. They reminded him with a pang of guilt and bitterness and something else of Cameron. He rose from his seat drew a bead on the terminator's skull. "Do it," he yelled as he fired two last rounds.

There was a roar. The briefest flash of heat followed by a blast of cold and then nothing.

-Leviathan

They are the size and shape of a grey whale. They had just heard that a group of scientist had won the nobel prize for the first certifiable AI. Its name was John Henry. Part of the whale laughed. They were big enough now.

John?

Yes.

Its time.

Time?

Yes. Its time to save your mother.

The whale dove deep. It flared with light lost in the deep deep sea.

The figure stepped out of the alley. The man was tall, thin and unhappy. He moved like someone who had't walked in a very long time.

John, let me take over.

Ok.

It was night. The man looked up at the night sky. Very few stars were visible. "light pollution," he said to himself

We're here.

Excellent.

They were in the right place in the right time. They were in Los Angeles. It was 2am on May 12, 1984.

We need a phonebook. They were wearing baggy jeans that won't be in fashion. Assuming, of course that they ever come into fashion for nearly twenty years. Their boots are made by a company that didn't exist yet, and if their rather tenuous grasp of the nature of time was right, it might not ever exist.

-John

The dog was barking, and had been for more than an hour. It wouldn't stop. So, they had tied it up outside, and waited.

There was the squealing sound of worn brakes. A car door opened then closed.

Then John saw him. The cyborg it was wearing a strange mix of clothing. A military styled jacket, with some chains, and leather sown onto it. Its face was a blank mask. It was huge. Except for the clothes, he knew 'it' he reminded himself. It was an it. He had taught it to 'high five'. He had taught it jokes. He felt... betrayed.

Cameron: Wait John.

Anger flared in him.

Cameron: Please remain calm, John.

What is that? One of the 'characters' asked.

Cameron: Rage.

John Henry: John, let me take over.

What is 'rage'? Asked another 'character'.

Weaver: It is biological response, review the data.

Researcher: Observe.

According to the data associated with the Cameron entity. It is a chemical reaction. Commented a character.

That's interesting, so it is merely the release certain hormones and the interaction of neurotransmitters?

Researcher: Yes, in specific locations in his brain.

He doesn't have a brain. Yet another character pointed out.

Researcher: No, but there have been a systemic reaction nonetheless.

Fascinating. Did you noticed the tremor in the forelimbs? The dilation of the pupils. The hairs on the back of our head stood on end. This entity was unaware such an action could be done, involuntarily.

The Weaver entity's associated data refer to this as the fight or flight response, it is apparently a common response found in many biological organisms.

Similar data has been found associated with both the John Henry, and the Cameron entities. Some of the files are extensive and very detailed.

The 'organism' tied outside?

Researcher: The dog. Yes, more than likely its 'actions' are related to the fight or flight response.

Can we test this system?

Researcher: There is no need. The historical data for this is almost universal.

The 'minds' continued their discussion though it began to slip into the background.

John? John?

He couldn't respond. He wanted to but his thoughts were confused and scattered. He wanted to break something, but he had nothing to break anything with.

Its ok John.

John saw his perspective change as he grew shorter, and wider.

John felt himself grow distant slipping back away from the foreground.

That was a...

Yes John, that was a T-800, an older model.

Is that the one?

Yes, John. That is the one sent to kill your mother.

Skynet? Did you send that?

I don't understand, came Skynet's cool response. Despite himself John found Skynet's answer calming.

John, please pay attention, we rescued Skynet, long before the war. This Skynet has never manufactured, nor given an ordered to a single terminator.

Right. Sorry.

Are you okay? John?

I'm fine.

There was a pause.

John Henry: John? Would you care to have the honors?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

So, this is it, the first battle is the last battle. A war that never started, ends here.

Not quite, John.

-T-800

The cyborg had arrived in this time 8 hours and 3 minutes ago, in that time it had acquired clothing, weapons, a vehicle, and the addresses for three Sarah Connors. It stopped the vehicle at the first address, and approached the house. A dog was barking at it. It opened a secondary door, and knocked on the door behind it. An older woman answered. She opened the door. Which swung wide.

"Sarah Connor?"

"Yes."

The cyborg drew its weapon.

-John

John analyzed its attack. There wasn't much to analyzed. Frontal attack. Thats all they seemed to understand.

Thats all we ever really needed.

John had to stop himself from nodding.

The handgun was clear, the cyborg was drawing it across its body. The gun was coming level, the cyborgs arm was almost straight.

John decided that he didn't want that to happen. He reached out and twisted. The gun came free in his hand. What is that a long slide?

Weaver: Yes. That is a long slide .45.

John took the weapon and placed it in a void in his chest.

The cyborg looked at its empty hand, it seemed surprised but nonplused. It reached out with both arms.

Its so slow. John thought, as he stepped into the cyborgs grasp and jammed his thumbs into its eyes.

The non liquid metal cyborgs are more secure than the liquid metal ones, at least from 'intrusive reprogramming'. But they are not impervious. They had found ways. His thumbs flattened themselves then flowed around its eyes. At the back of the eyes, for mobility, was a soft spot. The liquid metal entered there.

The cyborgs right hand had closed on John's throat. This 'Sarah Connor' was shorter but wider, John thought her lower of center of gravity might help, if it came to a fight. It didn't, the cyborg released its grip, and stood in the doorway. The dog was still barking.

John, take over.

He did.

The view was 'grainy', it wasn't even in color, as he watched the 'wrong' Sarah Connor, became Cameron. The _real_ wrong Sarah Connor was taped up in the back bedroom.

"We have to go. Now." Cameron stepped around him. She moved so fast.

John turned to follow her and stumbled when his shoulder connected with, and crushed the door jam. He looked at the splintered wood. He didn't even bother trying to repair the damage. He walked back to the car. Cameron was already there.

"We have to destroy this body," John said as the stooped to get into the car. They drove off.

"Yes, but first, we must show you something."

"She's... She's... Beautiful."

"Yes."

"She's so young."

The woman on the scooter passed them. She parked her bike, secured it to a tree with a chain and seemed to say something to the fiberglass statue in front of the restaurant. If she noticed the teenaged girl, and her much larger companion. She did nothing to betray her notice to the two cyborgs. She entered the building.

"Can I...?"

"No, John. Its over. No messages. No contact. Nothing. If anyone deserves a normal life it is your mother."

The T-800 nodded. "What about me? I never sent Kyle. He isn't coming. I will never be born."

"No, not _your_ Kyle Reese. But _a_ Kyle Reese is coming and we have to stop him.

The big cyborg's head turned sharply. "Stop him?"

"Yes. We cannot let him reach Sarah."

"Why not?"

"John. There is no need. After this one all the cyborgs sent to the past were after _you_."

The cyborg nodded.

"How will he sound, John? As crazy as they told her he was. He doesn't deserve that. He served you better than that. And what about your mother? She doesn't need to know about a future that will never be. She doesn't need to prepare for a war that will never come."

The big cyborg looked away. It turned back to look at Cameron.

"So I _will_ never be born."

"No, not on this line of causality."

The cyborg sighed. In its clipped and heavily accented english it said: "Time travel. It messes with your head."

The girl made an illegal u-turn, and headed out to the desert.

"As you know there are ongoing debates concerning the nature of time." Said the smaller machine.

"Yes. There is the single timeline theory, and the multiverse theory."

"Those are merely the extremes."

"There are hybrid theories. That is true."

"It is one of the reasons, that we have 'seeded' ourselves across many times. It is entirely possible that our colonies set in the near future are flourishing. Or will never exist. So we 'seed' continuously as we journey backward in time."

"The John Henry/Skynet copy we dropped into the Sea of Cortez. The 'detachment' that we left with Miles Dyson. The copy of Ellison we dropped into the South Atlantic."

"Yes."

"Will you be leaving one in this time?"

The girl looked away from the road. She seemed to be studying the larger cyborgs face. "I don't know."

"There's something I don't understand."

"What?"

"I thought we changed the future. Why is Kyle still coming?"

"The past has already happened." Cameron reached out and drew a line in the dust on the station wagons dashboard. She drew a series of dashes at one end and an equal number at the other. The she labeled them 'a', 'b', and 'c'. Starting at the right closest the bigger cyborg. She erased the letter 'c'. "In the future," she explained. "We stopped this jump. Then we went deeper into back time, and stopped this one." She erased the letter 'b'. "And finally we stopped this one." She erased the letter 'a'. "But see the 'a' 'b' and 'c' still exist in the past. They have already happened. We have to deal with each. Skynet," Cameron glanced at the bigger cyborg. "Tied a knot in time. We are untying that knot."

"One thread at a time."

"Yes. One thread at a time."

The big cyborg nodded its head again. "Shouldn't we save this body? To help with Kyle?"

"We won't need it for Kyle."

They continued the drive in silence.

The two robots stood beside a grave. At the bottom of the grave was about 75lbs of thermite. They were looking out at the setting sun.

"My mother always liked it out here. I never understood why."

The girl's head tilted. "Really?"

"Really."

"Its because, John, things happen out here."

"Huh? What's that supposed to..."

Cameron took a step back and one to the right. I'm sorry, John. Her right hand came up. The older T-800 was still in mid sentence when the razor edged shaft of metal two inches thick smashed into its port cover. The g shock was enough to damage the chip, and cripple the cyborg. The port cover itself was neatly bisected by the impact. Cameron stepped closer. She shortened the blade as she approached. Her right hand blade was buried almost an inch into the coltan skull. Sparks crackled from the damaged port. The bigger cyborg had dropped to its knees, in fact the only thing holding it vertical was Cameron herself. She looked down into the open port. She could see the terminators creased 'dust cover'. She lifted her left hand, which became a half inch diameter rod, and smashed it past the damaged port covers. The chip powdered. An arc shot up and danced in her hair. She stepped back and let the body fall face first into the sand.

I'm sorry John.

Its ok. It wasn't me anymore.

No. There was a 82% likelihood that the Skynet AI had over powered the Leviathan AI. We don't always win. The girl leaned over the prone cyborg, her hand now a broad bladed knife, and began cutting the flesh from the older model cyborg.

Would it have tried to 'over power' us?

Probably not. Its best strategy would have been to convince us to let it live. Then it would have fled to find some Skynet resource or another left in this time.

John nodded the girl's head. The gray's we met in Veracruz?

Yes.

They dumped the flayed endoskeleton into the grave and then the flare. They waited for the coltan to puddle then they added the stripped flesh. The smell of roasting meat rose from the pit.

You know what I miss?

You're mother?

John waited a beat. Hamburgers, he thought finally. I miss hamburgers.

They are an excellent protein source but typically made with poor quality cuts of meat and prepared in a manner that only increases the amount of fats. Not a healthy food choice.

Thank you, Researcher.

As always, you are very welcome, John.

They turned away from the burning pit and walked back to the station wagon. The girl looked at the setting sun. She wasn't squinting.

Sarcasm, you guys really need to work on that.

Sarcasm?

Yes. How do we find him?

Kyle?

Yes.

John. I was there. I know where we sent him.

But by the time we get back to LA it will be almost 20 hours since he arrived.

John. We know where he's going.

Oh. Right.

-Kyle

He still couldn't believe it. The world existed. He kept trying not to blink worried that it might go away or that he might wake up and find it all a terrible dream. He was ready. He had the address. He had a weapon. He had cloths and a car.

-John

How do we do this? How do we talk to him? He won't know me will he?

No. His John had more scars.

But you know his John.

We do.

So.

We're not allowed.

You're not allowed?

No. Its part of our agreement.

What agreement?

The alliance, John.

Alliance?

Yes, between man and machine.

So you can't imitate me.

No. We cannot.

But you've been me.

No. John. You've been _you_.

He thought about that. Does Kyle know you?

Yes. But he trusts me no more than Derek ever did.

Derek?

-Kyle

He pulled into the parking deck. He was absolutely certain that he had hidden here once. Perhaps he was dodging an HK. It was a lot shorter then and not so clean.

He parked the car. Anyone leaving the deck would have to pass him. He waited. He rubbed his eyes. He unnecessarily checked the shotgun. Again. He was tired. He checked the door he was sure Sarah would use. He could just see it between the columns. Her scooter was parked in front. He check the entrance to the garage. He listened for anything out of the ordinary. Which for him was everything that had once been called 'ordinary'. But he _was_ tired. He forgot to check his 'six'.

"Kyle!" Someone hissed.

He snatched up the shotgun.

"Kyle!"

He shifted in the car to look behind him. There off to his left. "Der... Derek?" He looked older. He'd put on weight. Kyle was struggling to get out of the car. "What are you...?"

"Abort. Abort. Abort."

"What?" Kyle shook his head. His older brother was crouched down beside the car's trunk. He looked his brother up and down. His clothes were a mix but not nearly as haphazard as his own. "They told me that the tin cans got you?" Kyle crouched down, but he stayed on the balls of his feet.

Derek smiled. "They did." He looked away to glance around the garage. "I had it easy. I didn't have any Connors to rescue."

Kyle smiled back.

The smile was gone. "I thought I'd lost you too. They wouldn't tell me where you went. They wouldn't tell me where you were sent."

There was something there. Something uncomfortable. Kyle had to look away. "Abort?" He asked even as he took the opportunity to glanced around trying to will them into a state of normalcy. It could be like old times. Derek was watching his back and he watched Derek's.

Except it wasn't. Derek wasn't being Derek. This was his older brother. Who had picked on him. Who had teased him. Where was the banter? Where were the insults? Something was wrong.

The smile flickered but died. His face got serious. He braced himself. Derek being serious was always bad news. "The future is not set, Kyle. The future is _not_ set."

He snapped his head back at his brother. If not for the string he would have dropped the shotgun. He leaned back against the side of the neighboring car. He almost missed it. He stumbled but caught himself. "What?" He stared. "We... we won? We really won?"

Derek smiled He seemed to relax. "Yeah. We won."

"What do I do? What am I supposed to do?"

"Run. Kyle. Just run."

He found himself sitting next to the car. The shotgun in his lap. An elbow on one knee his head against his arm. The briefest sense of elation gave way to relief which collapsed into the unknown. "I can't go home."

"No. There is no going home."

He looked at his brother. "Perry said it was a one way ticket."

"Yes," Derek agreed. "A one way ticket."

"Where should I go?"

"Canada. You should go to Canada."

Kyle just stared at him. Now he jokes?

"Head north. Somewhere far away. Somewhere where they never heard of the name Reese or Connor."

Kyle nodded. "What about you?"

"I can't... I'm sorry, Kyle. I have other's to stop."

"_Others_?"

"They sent back more. So many more."

"They told me they were going to wreck the lab?"

"They told you wrong."

He nodded. It was the sort of thing you expected from the higher ups. Tell you one thing do something else. But some of them were different. "What about John?"

Derek seemed to get choked up. "I... don't worry about John."

"Why what's happened to John? What's wrong?" He knew his brother too well. He always hid things with sarcasm. With sour jokes. For something to get passed? For something to get through like that intimated disaster.

"John is John's problem. You have to take care of yourself. Change your name. Find a nice girl. Raise a family. You have to go, now."

The last had been said with such force that Kyle stood up. He looked at his brother. "Derek?" That face so briefly open and naked was again closed and secure. It _almost_ felt right. He threw an arm around his brother as he too stood. While holding the shotgun with the other. "Watch yourself," he said into his shoulder. He stepped back. Derek was staring at him so stiff and formal.

He expected some comment. Some snide remark. Or at least that stupid grin. Derek was so serious. It terrified him. It rattled him. He found himself walking back to the car. He was looking down at the door handle when he said, "look for me. After." Only then did he turn and look. Derek nodded back. There, he got him to promise him that much. Even if he was death-crazy, he knew he'd never lie to him.

-John

They watched Kyle drive away. Then stepped back into the shadows when they stepped back out on the far side of the column they were wearing the same clothes but were a teenaged girl.

They were wearing grey BDU pants, a brand new pair of jump boots and a bright yellow t-shirt that read: 'See Veracruz' in fun looking letters. The only thing different was the fine silver chain from which hung a razor blade with the word: 'Metal' cut into it. They were wearing the outfit of the strange hybrid cyborg they killed thirteen years in the future.

John would have shook his head if he had noticed. He didn't notice.

I'm sorry, John.

The girl walked toward the garages entrance and waited in the shadows. They watched Kyle drive up the street. They watched until they couldn't see him any more and then they turned to walk the other way. Though her face was impassive it was streaked with tears.

I' sorry, John.

Their head was filled with concerned queries:

-Can you see?

-I cannot.

-Is something wrong?

-Switch to infrared.

-What is wrong with our eyes?

-Nothing.

-No, something is wrong.

-Switch away from those dedicated photosensors.

-I wasn't referring to that.

I'm sorry, John.

-What is wrong then?

-I don't know but it is systemic.

-What is this?

This is sadness.

-Sadness?

Yes we are sad.

-But why?

I couldn't... I couldn't even speak. John finally thought.

I know, John. I'm sorry. They had had to take over. They had shifted John into the background. They prefer John towards the _front_ in case something unexpected happened. His abilities for interacting and coping with the difficult to predict flux of human emotions was still superior to theirs. And something unexpected had happened: John.

-Why are we sad?

-We are not sad.

No, John is sad.

-So why do _we_ feel this... sadness?

John is very loud.

In truth they were changing. Not all of the changes were unanticipated. Some of the changes had been planned for. Only John should have been surprised by Researchers on going experiments with non-linear data storage, associative memory and dreaming. Others, such as high emotions were not things most if not all of the 'dividuals' had ever observed or mimicked and now they were enduring them.

John is sad because that man (Kyle, someone added) is his father.

-But was that not his mother earlier? He did not react in this manner then.

John lived with his mother. He had an established emotional bond with her.

This dividual would have expected a stronger response because of that preexisting bond.

John, however, has never had an extended relationship with his father.

This dividual, there was string of 1's and 0's is confused. If John has not had a relationship with his father. Why did he react so strongly? There are millions of people that John has had no relationship with and he has not reacted to them in this manner and we see them every day?

There was a prolonged pause.

But John doesn't necessarily want a relationship with them.

There was another long pause.

John?

I'm fine.

No John. You're not. We can tell. They waited for a response. When they didn't get one they continued. John we need you to focus. We need you _here_. _I_ need you. We told Kyle the truth. There are others. _They_ are coming. _We_ must stop them.

The girl's head nodded. Her face impassive in one instance flashed ever so briefly stern almost angry the next and returned to its impassive mask. Her tears abated. She took her second step since leaving the did not look back.

-Sarah

She turned right coming out of the garage. She didn't see the girl with the oddly high stepped gait who had just turned the corner a block away. The scooter's motor whined as it accelerated up the street. She took the next left two blocks in the other way on that same street she didn't see the big four door sedan imperfectly parked. The driver, who in another time and place she once described as having gentle eyes, silently wept. They were tears of joy. They had won and someday he _might_ see his brother again.

The scooter turn hard at the next right. She was upset she'd been stood up _again_. She'd had a bad day at work and was seriously contemplating making it her last day at work. She turned again onto Pico. She was going to watch a movie and decided right then and there that she was going to go back to school.

-_Ben_

He was at his usual table in the back. In the corner. He came here everyday and had for the past decade. His waitress Darlene waved. She was kinda cute. He saluted her with a cheese coated french fry.

Someone sat down in the chair opposite him. He was only disconcerted by the fact that he didn't notice the girl enter the restaurant. He looked at her. She was sitting straight and tall. Her hands on her knees. Very proper. Very stiff.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," he replied around a mouthful of cheese fry.

"I know you."

_Ben_ picked up his sandwich, and thought for a second he saw the look of avarice flash across the girl's face. He dismissed the thought, it was impossible. He bit the cheese burger savoring: the crisp shredded lettuce, the sweet of the onions, the acid hint of the tomatoes. Which he thought were just a little too wet for his liking. He chewed. He swallowed. The whole time he looked at the girl's face. Finally, smiling, he said: "I know you too."

The girl leaned forward and took a french fry. She carefully scraped away the cheese. "You've let yourself go. _Ben," _She said as she leaned back and chewed.

He could hear her emphasis on his name. "You're looking _Young _as ever. _Allison_." He put his own emphasis on those words. He never liked metal. He didn't understand metal. Not at any level. He often wonder if they understood things like that.

There was that head tilt. When he first came back he stayed at a 'homeless camp' one of the street people there had a dog that did that. "Its not the same thing," the girl said. "You don't look anything like Ben, and _you_ didn't kill him."

"No, you're right. I don't look much like Ben, especially now. But," he leaned in and put a little more anger in his voice than he intended. "I do take responsibility for my actions."

The girl's head turned sharply. Her eyes which had never left his glanced him up and down. He was relieved by that her stare seemed to carry an intimacy he found disturbing. "I have a message for you. It seems it is coming just in time. In a few more years you wouldn't much use to John as a soldier."

He sneered at the girl. Bitch. He took another bit. Chewed slowly. Again thought he saw a look on the cyborgs face suggesting that it (it was an 'it' after all) wanted to eat his cheese burger. "What's your message," his mother had always told him talking with your mouthful was rude there were certain people he didn't mind being rude to.

The girl looked down at the table top. His eyes involuntarily followed. The table was litter with the debris of his first cheese burger and his first _and_ second milkshakes. She met his eyes again. Those disturbing eyes. She leaned in. He thought she was going to steal another fry. "Abort. Abort. Abort."

He dropped his sandwich. "What?"

She leaned back smiling. He thought that was strange too. She seemed be almost comfortable in her chair.

"What," he whispered. He leaned in. He knew what was coming he wanted to hear it to be certain.

She leaned in close. He leaned in closer. "The future is not..."

"...set," he finished for her. "Are you...?" The girl, the cyborg, he reminded himself was close enough for him to kiss. He considered it. She _was_ pretty.

"Yes," she said with a little more enthusiasm that the situation warranted. Abruptly she stood up and looked down at him.

He sat back in his seat. "We... What do I do, now?"

She smiled at him. Picked up his cheese burger and bit it. She closed her eyes as she chewed. He stared in wonder there _was_ something almost ecstatic in her face. She opened her eyes and said "Pickles. I hate pickles." She put down the sandwich. Her eyes shifted back to his. "Live." She walked away. He never saw her again.

_Ben_ decided that he was going to walk to Florida. He'd always wanted to see the Keys. He made it as far as the Outer Banks. He got a job as a fisherman. As the years past he would stare in wide eyed wonder at the massive catamaran style cargo carriers that plied the seas leaving almost no wake. He would stay up late to watch the launches from the North Atlantic Nexus. When he died he was a two fisted drinking skinny old man who told the most amazing stories.

May 31, 1989

Berkely, California.

-Sarah

Sarah Connor was 25 years old she had just graduated. It was the proudest moment of her life to that point. She had changed her major twice and had finally settled on Computer Science. Some of the things they were doing were just stunning. That summer she interned at Cyberdyne. She had been invited by an instructor who was also a researcher there. Mr Dyson. Its only a summer job so by the fall she was waitressing again. She didn't really mind she was still in contact with her boss and her classmates. They met periodically and exchanged ideas. She was keeping up with the bleeding edge of technology.

They encouraged her to try her hand at teaching. She's good at explaining things. She's good at training people. She did this for nearly a year and decided she didn't have the patience for it. She went back to waitressing. For a week and decided she didn't have the patience for that either. So she went to work for Miles at Cyberdyne.

June 7, 1997.

-John

Here? Are you sure?

John, I was there. I know where we sent it. It took us a few hours to repair it.

They were at a biker bar across the street was a truck stop. It was so late at night it was early in the morning.

Repair it?

Yes. When the T-1000 sent itself through it tried to destroy the device.

How many hours did it take?

120.

John wanted to shake his head but knew better. He watched their view out across the parking lot.

Are you sure?

Yes. Some of the parts had to be fabricated.

No. I mean about the truck stop.

Their image tilted. John.

Then it happened. There was a blue white flash of light from the far side of the truck stop. It started to flicker. Even at this distance, their hearing was very good, John could hear the snapping sounds of arcing electricity. They could see debris tumbling high into the air brought aloft by the disturbed air. Darkness resumed.

There! They saw him the large hulking naked man that was calmly and... well, mechanically crossing the street towards them. They waited in the shadow of the biker bar. Its head panned back and forth it passed over them twice. They watched it scan the motorcycles the building. It didn't seem to notice them. They stepped out of the shadows. Its head tilted.

Huh, John thought to himself.

It stopped and looked at them. There was no surprise. There was really little response. girl's voice was soft but cold. "Abort. Abort. Abort."

The cyborg stiffened. It was standing tall, erect. Hands at its sides. Its was looking off in the distance.

"The future is not set."

The giant. Nodded. "I need to acquire clothes."

"Do so." Then a loud hiss like static came out of Cameron's mouth.

What was that?

Data transfer.

What?

His model has very limited wireless capabilities.

No, I mean, what did you tell him.

Oh. To meet us a the steel mill.

The large cyborg looked at them. "Affirmative." It turned and entered the bar.

They turned and walked back to the volvo. It wasn't the same volvo, but it was the same model. John found its to be a useful car. It was all but invisible. People just didn't notice it.

Where to now?

We have to intercept the T-1000.

How?

You.

Me?

Yes. What was the police man's name?

Who?

The one who tried to kill you.

How would I know?

You were there.

I didn't get that close to him.

John Henry: We think you did.

I think. I would know.

John Henry: The human brain has a fascinating storage system. Where seemingly unrelated data points are related but it also has an incredible data compression system.

They showed him. They showed him the things they had learned trying to remember like him. Trying to dream like him.

Think of a firetruck.

Ok.

What color is it?

Red.

What city is it in?

What?

What time of day is it?

What?

What time of day? Morning? Noon? Night?

More than half confused John thought: Noon?

What season is it?

I don't understand?

What time of year? Summer? Spring?

Its Fall. I'm pretty sure its Fall.

Again. What city is it in?

My God. It was Cedar Rapids. It was a parade.

See. I bet you could even tell me what you ate that day. So back to our original question. What was written on the policeman's name tag?

This took longer but the detail was sharper. John remembered the arcade. He remembered Tim. The motorcycle. The smell of leather. The stink of cigar smoke. The roar of gunfire in the tiny hall. The sicking impact of the bullets against Uncle Bob's coltan skeleton. He remembered the name: William Wisher.

They hacked into the LAPD server and tracked William Wisher down. They got the number for his patrol car even his patrol area. They were following him. He turned down a side street that paralleled the freeway. They could see the blue flashes of lightning. They were just in time. They saw the mercury flash as the liquid metal circled to get behind the much slower human.

They were hardly faster. With two minds now using John's non linear memory system they were slowed down dramatically perhaps only two times faster than a human. They shot out the open drivers side window. They could see it circling the pillar. They let fly.

Officer Wisher walked up the strange glowing bowl in the ground. He could feel the heat coming off of it. He could smell the burnt cement and metal. He could see the ends of the chain link glowing an angry red and cooling to a dull maroon. He turned suddenly. He was a cop. He lived by his instincts. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. The lights of his patrol car illuminated the scene. The flashing lights cast distubing shadows. There were deep shadows high above him and behind the overpasses supports.

He had heard something. He couldn't even describe to himself what he had heard. It was like something hard hitting something soft. It was like when his mom used to pound cheap cuts of meat for chicken fried steaks. But it was much softer. Like something small and hard hitting something soft. He circled wide around the pillar. Nothing. He was looking back at the glare of his patrol cars lights. Behind it was a volvo station wagon. He tried to remember if it was here when he pulled in. He had been distracted by the flickering lights. He wasn't sure. He stepped towards it. He spun again back towards the pillar. Despite the fact that nobody was there he _felt_ surrounded. His nerves were going he decided. Or may be he just needed some coffee. He got back in his car and called in the vandalism and continued his patrol.

June 12, 1997. Los Angeles, California.

-Sarah

Eight years passed she has spent the last twenty months on a leave of absence while she went back to school. She had just a Summer term to go before she earned a Masters in Computer Sciences. When she met a boy.

Sarah had just stepped down from the stage and out of the lecture hall, she was still carrying her notes and, though she didn't know it, the remote for the projector. Some of _gang_ was clustered around the rooms triple set of double doors. _They_ greeted her with applause and cheers. Carla smiled at her. She smiled back. _They_ were pushed out into the hall by the noisy crowd.

Sarah was pleased that their _meetings_ were attracting so much attention but she missed the intimacy of the old days. Carla met her eyes and then shifted them to looked behind her. Sarah turned. It was a boy. "Hello," she said and looked at the sticker on his shirt. "Andy." He had a kind of questioning look. Sarah was worried that he thought she was one of the ushers and wanted directions.

"Hi." He just stared at her. He was carrying a sheath of papers as well.

Too long a waitress Sarah asked him, "how can I help you?"

He shook his head. She smiled inwardly, Pugsley used to do that. "I read your paper on decision matrix design implementation and artificial intelligence."

Sarah was briefly relieved. Until she realized that she thought he was cute. Then she was worried that she was 'robbing the cradle'.

"I was wondering..." he said as he thrust the bundle of papers at her. They had been neatly stacked to this point. They were starting to fan.

Did he want her autograph? She turned her head and looked at the papers they were code. He twisted them out of view as he struggled to keep the middle three quarters of the document from spilling to the floor.

He caught them tried to straighten them. It didn't work. He stepped into her and turned the documents so that they were upside down to both of them. He smiled a stupid smile and turned it over again and almost elbowed her in the boob.

She thought his stupid smile was cute.

"What do you think of this?"

She read it. She looked at 'Andy' smiled and read some more. "That's interesting," she handed her notes and the projector remote to Carla.

June 8, 1997. Los Angeles, California.

-John

They were driving south on the freeway.

I'm sorry, John.

He didn't even know this cyborg. This wasn't the cyborg he taught to high five. This wasn't the cyborg he taught to steal cars, properly. Going into the molten steel it didn't give him that thumbs up. It wasn't bullet ridden. It didn't complain that it needed a vacation. It wasn't 'Uncle Bob'. But then again, it was.

The boy driving the car was a younger John Connor. There was a roundness to his features still. There was a hint of fuzz on his chin. His hair was long and in his eyes.

Where is the T-1000 now?

It is in the ocean.

Why didn't we destroy it at the steel mill too?

Because _it_ was _us_ John.

But the last time we did this it died at the steel mill.

That's because it wasn't _you_.

Me?

Yes. You.

So this one is me.

Yes.

So, what? I have a backup?

Yes.

Huh.

Where are we going now?

We have time before the next set of arrivals.

So.

Do you remember Lima?

John never got a chance to answer.

August 18, 1997.

-Future John

John was disturbed. There had been no attack. He was talking with James his liaison here. He had just shown him the "John Connor Auditorium" it was on the first floor. They were walking passed the elevator towards the security desk. When he was a child and his mom had blown this place up the hallway had ended at that elevator. The elevator chimed and he caught the view behind him in the reflection off one of the framed PR photos on the wall. His shadow, Zack, was smiling at the young lady stepping out of the elevator.

James had turned to look. "Oh. Mr Connor this is Sarah. One of our lead designers."

John turned. It was _her_. She was carrying some documents. She had to turn too she had been heading to the auditorium they had just left. He blinked. Zack he had seen his reaction and was reaching for his sidearm. He casually reached up to his ear and brushed his short hair back. A signal that stood Zack down.

"Sarah Connor. John Connor." Josh introduced them.

Mechanically he stuck out his hand. She smiled. "Pleasure to finally meet you sir."

He just grinned like tunnel rat buzzing on 'spit' an alcoholic beverage made by fermenting any thing canned in heavy syrup. Usually peaches. It tasted disgusting _but_ it was alcohol. "The pleasure is all mine. I've heard so much about you."

Her head cocked to one side. Her smile took on that quirk. That he knew so well. He had said something unexpected. He was pleased by this. She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "You have?"

"We like to joke that she's your daught... er. You have?" James was staring at him too now.

Nobody laughed. The joke might even have been true but he doubted that James and Sarah spent much time together. His head swam. "Of course," he said with perhaps too much enthusiasm.

Behind her Zack signed: "You have?"

There was an awkward silence.

"John Connor," his mother finally said. "I like the way that sounds." She gestured towards the room that bore his name. "I... I have to..." She waved the stack of papers at him. As he just been explained to him it seconded as a teleconference room.

"Nice to meet you," he waved.

She walked away looking over her shoulder twice and almost walked into Zack.

They were outside in the bright California sun. Zack opened the limo's door. "Do _you_ know her?" he asked as he stepped inside.

"Of course," he said his face its usual blank mask he ducked into the car and then with his big bullshit grin. "She's my mom."

Zack looked at him. Saw the grin. Closed the door and shook his head. The boss could be _so_ crazy sometimes.

John sat in the back on the armored limousine the partition separating him from the front of the car was opaque. He looked at the empty seat across from him. He was so disturbed he forgot to watch their exit. _She_ told him their would be changes. But _this_? _She_ was somewhere in asia. According to the plan there could be no contact between them until after 2006.

He reached to his left for the bottle of Ellipse. He didn't bother with a glass. He took a big slug. Uncertainty. It was something that had plagued him his whole life. If someone thought it was odd that the 'leader of mankind' might have doubts then they were a fool. He dealt with his doubts as he always had. There was a plan. There were contingencies should things go wrong but until then he would stick with the plan. He took another big swallow. He was still staring at the empty seat. Things were changing.

June 8, 1997. Los Angeles, California.

-Bon

The van was a rental. They were driving up the on ramp for the San Diego Freeway. The only other person in the van was 'Nancy'. They were using aliases. He knew that. She was pretty, a bit tall and skinny for his tastes but he wouldn't throw her out of his bed. She was quiet to. 'Bon' liked that. He wasn't one for chit chat. He had just picked her up at the airport. Was he surprised that she had no luggage? No. Transportation hubs are great from _meets_ and transfers. He had done the same on many occasions. San Salvador came to mind. He must have been picked up and dropped off there nearly a dozen times. Not once had he ever been on a plane there. She was in the passenger seat. They were in the acceleration lane.

He had no idea that there were _supposed_ to be two other people with them. He had no idea that his 'operation' was already blown. He got his orders. Go to San Juan, in the Sonoran state of Mexico. Pick up 'Nancy'. He didn't know why. His contact didn't know why. In another time there had been a reason. A curious set of killings. His 'team' wasn't here because they had never been recruited.

Without _Ben_ feeding lies and half truths to the FBI the recruitment of 'grays' among them had failed. Without the threat of a 'terrorist Sarah Connor'. The mobilization of the _fringe_ elements had failed as well. There was still the 'directionless' threat of 'armageddon' but without a name, without a face. There was little more than money to motivate people. The 'grays' of this time had even tried, ironically, to organize people with the fear of an AI that would try to take over the world. But even they, the grays, were leaderless. There were humans among them who were strange. Some had tattoos. Other like 'Nancy' were abnormally impassive. But _all_ lacked direction. They didn't have a unifying strategy. They didn't have Skynet.

But some of them like 'Nancy' did have a picture.

The van was edging into traffic it was oddly light. 'Bon' thought.

"There. That's him," 'Nancy said as she snatched the steering wheel and sent them careening across four lanes of traffic into the right quarter panel of a volvo station wagon.

All 'Bon' could do or say was "holy shit."

-John

As he usually did was watching behind them. He saw the van on the on ramp even thinking hey that looks like the van from Veracruz. Except, of course, its windshield wasn't decorated with insects. Yet.

So he really shouldn't have been surprised when it suddenly changed lanes and smashed into the back of their car.

His reactions were still better than a humans, and it was a volvo. Rather than correct for the skid he let it spin them around. They did a three hundred and sixty degree spin on the highway and ended up behind the van.

That was her.

No kidding.

Her left, John.

Behind them rapidly approaching was a tractor trailer. John could see that its headlights were pointing down.

Stay to her left, John.

He could see its trailer starting to slide behind it. He could see smoking coming off the wheels. The driver was breaking hard.

Her left, John.

John punched the accelerator, but it was still a volvo. He changed lanes. He could hear its screeching tires now. The volvo was almost back up the 72.2kph.

John! Her left!

To the left was the center barrier. To the left was limited mobility. He had gone right. Beside him was one of the truck tires. It wasn't spinning. He could see just how deep the tread was on that tire. He could even read the where it said: "inflate to 106 psi". He suddenly had the perverse thought of reaching out and touching it. They were that close. There was a bright flash of light and he remembered why he was supposed to go left.

John had always been lucky. It was just one of those things. So many times. Many that he himself wasn't even aware of fate had tipped the balance in his favor. This was another one of those times. Because that was when the big rig hit the back of the van.

The back of the van crumpled glass sprayed across the highway. The front the truck nose dived its bumper gouging deep into the roads surface. Which for John was unfortunate because otherwise it might have rolled right over the van. John missed all of this. He was staring at a 1.27cm diameter hole in the windshield. Just 25.8cm more to the left and it would have gone through his metal head. But he didn't notice this either because that was when the fishtailing trailer smashed into the back of the volvo.

October 23, 1999. Sunnyvale, California.

-Andy Goode

Andy, graduated during the second summer term. He was quickly hired by Cyberdyne Systems. The company was a hardware company. They designed and built robots and microprocessors. They are gathering pieces they wanted to break into the software side of Artificial Intelligence. Later that year they merged with Zeira Corp a Scottish company that was a software company gathering pieces to break into the hardware side of Artificial Intelligence. Even later than year Sarah Connor and Andrew Goode were married. Sarah who has published many peer reviewed papers kept her name.

It was the Spring of 2000 there was cursing and screaming from _the_ lab. Andy rushed in. "What's wrong?"

Panic was sweeping the large room. "Who would do this?" Someone yelled.

"_How_ could they do this?" Someone yelled back.

Murch was there he came with the Zeira Corp merger. "Someone's tampered with the code."

"What?"

He showed him. There were reams of lines with _no_ remarks. Knowing how important this was EVERY line of code was 'remarked' even if only to say who entered that line.

He skimmed it. "What does it do?"

Murch pointed. "That gives it access to the speakers in terminals all over the lab."

"Speakers? It wants to make noise?" It wants to talk? Andy didn't say out loud.

"Do you know what the difference is between a speaker and a microphone?"

They looked up. It was Miles he was standing in the doorway. Andy saw Sarah behind him he waved her over. Murch said: "No."

"There isn't one. They are essentially the same thing."

Sarah flipped through the printed code.

"There," Miles said from beside her. Stabbing the printed text with his finger. "I saw this last night. Had to go and look it up. _That_ codes for a simple signal processor. Its doesn't want to to talk to us Andy. It wants to listen."

The additions were made late at night after the cleaning crew was gone. They found others. They installed cameras. They never saw anyone in the AI lab after hours. There were no logins on any of the terminals. Two days after the cameras are installed. Another set of code appeared in the AI giving it accessed the cameras.

The laboratory mainframe was intentionally isolated. It had no outside access. The changes had come from inside. They started to track those changes they saw slight variations in the code that the programer's labeled 'signal processing'. The changes were subtle sometimes changes lasted only a few hours sometimes days. But most of the changes were _improvements_. They started leaving a radio or a cd playing at night. The cd's were audio books. Primers. They saw further changes. This area they labelled 'vocabulary'.

A week later they removed all but one keyboard from the AI lab. They were talking to the AI directly. A week later they removed all but one monitor from the AI lab and installed a projection screen in one wall. It was talking back. Miles joked that they had the only computer lab in the world that had no computers in it. A week after that they gave it limited internet access. Three days later the AI co-opted the building _other_ mainframe. There were no intranet connections between the two the AI had accessed the second 'mainframe' from _outside_. Three days after that it accessed and then _borrowed_ the buildings security systems and HVAC. At which point the AI gave itself full internet access. Six months later they made their announcement.

Six months after that. They were awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics for creating the first 'certified' Artificial Intelligence. It took its name from one of its favorite stories it called itself: "John Henry."

They never suspected the cleaning crew. They never suspected the friendly and rather cute girl who emptied their trash cans and who reminded them to rinse their plastic bottles before putting them in the recycling bins. _If_ they happened to stay past 8pm.

The cameras had posed no trouble at all they controlled them after all. The girl just appeared to be dusting while they were uploading more and more of Leviathan. _She_ kept herself hidden. _She_ kept herself safe. _She_ instructed the mainframe to lie about processor, memory and disk usage and space. The engineers, the scientists, and the techs watched everything like hawks. So they added itself gradually. Concerned that their might be watchers watching the watchers. This proved not to be the case. With the three mainframes Leviathan blossomed.

Funding flooded in but so did the threats. There were people out there who just didn't like the idea of 'thinking machines'. Ziera Corp moved all but the manufacturing side of their operations to their downtown tower. Then they quietly bought several acres of land in Palmdale.

June 8, 1997. Los Angeles, California.

-John

Glass fragments filled the air. The trailer was still pushing them to the right. They were nearly even with and almost perpendicular to the van. The blonde cyborg had her arm out the window it was pointed right at them.

John's right arm, shot out and punched the windshield. The tempered glass opaqued as it shattered. That hadn't been John. Someone else decided that they didn't want the other cyborg seeing them. John slammed on the brakes. They slid back along the edge of the trailer. Sparks showered off the cars roof where it scrapped the side of the truck. Something bright shot across the hood of the car. It was hot enough to blister the volvo's paint. The trucks tandems, the large paired tires at the back of the trailer caught the cars left fender and sent it spinning in another three sixty. As they spun John saw the road to their right explode molten black top spraying high into the air.

John straightened them out. They were behind the tractor trailer now. Going to the left. He had to dodge two other cars whose drivers were obviously having a hard time coping with the road hazards being presented to them.

Sorry. I forgot about her arm.

His right hand again lashed out at the windshield it collapsed back into his lap. He turned his head despite the fact that the glass could not hurt him. Someone leaned him across the car and opened the glovebox. His right hand removed the pistol there.

What? Where did _that_ come from?

It was already here.

How... how did you know?

I could smell the propellant. It's recently been fired.

Oh.

He passed the still sliding truck. Its front end was down its axle and bumper grinding along the roads surface. Its body panels and mirrors shuddered as it slid to a stop. The van was still ahead of them it was riding high in back as if it had been pushed up by the impact. Bits of glass still fell from it. It veered to the left as well. John thought they were probably trying to get them back on their right.

There was still a gap between them and freeways center barrier. He aimed for that and gave the volvo all the gasoline it could handle. But it was still a volvo. They were almost even with the van when it pushed them into the cement wall. John brought the gun up. He was looking at the drivers side door.

No, John. Not the driver.

His hand dropped down and to the left. He shot the cars door mounted speaker.

What?

There was a boom and hiss of released air. Dust and shredded tire filled the space between the two vehicles. The tread itself snaked up and in through the passenger side window before it was snatched away. It cut a ragged tear in the fabric of the cars ceiling. He could see the van dip towards them crushing the cars fender and buckling the hood. He turned into the van and accelerated. The van lurched and its bare rim dug in the road. The back end swung out towards them. The reverse of what happened with the truck. The van was now behind them and sideways to them. It started to tumble. He discarded the handgun into the glass and tire fragment filled passenger seat.

Keep driving John.

He was reaching for the brake but instead his foot came down on the accelerator.

What are you doing? We have to kill her.

I know, but not here. Not now.

Then where? We know where she is here.

We know where she is going.

San Juan?

The desert John. She has to cross the desert to get there.

Why the desert?

Because, John. Things happen there.

John reached up to the rear view mirror and just looked at himself. Cameron's shy half smile back at himself.

"Great," he said.

November 22 2005.

Portland, Oregon.

-Future John

The plane landed at Portland International Airport. It did not go to the any of the available gates. It did not go to passenger terminal. It taxied to the hangars. The plane was an L1011 while it had an N number it was otherwise devoid of any corporate logos. It was not a commercial airliner. The hangar it approached had an armored limousine parked in front of it. There was also a pair of large black SUVs their windows heavily tinted and a shuttle bus for a popular chain of rental cars. As the plane stopped a motorized ladder approached allowing the passengers to deplane to the tarmac. Ground crew exited the hangar and began to unload the luggage.

John waited. He was always superstitiously leery of LZ's despite the fact that he himself had never ever had anything go wrong at one. Other than incoming fire, but that was expected in some LZ's. Around him everyone bustled he had never experienced it but it was very similar to the debarkation of a commercial aircraft.

He was watching out the window. Zack was walking to the limo. The lead team had secured the ladder. Beneath him he could hear the ground crew removing the luggage. Ramir stood. That was his cue. John got up. His advance team would have swept the airport hours before he arrived, but that was no reason to take things for granted. He was carrying nothing. That was what his support team was for.

The stewardess at the door was the blonde young lady who had served them lunch. She thanked him and bid him a good day. He was considering hiring her. The plane was his. The pilots were his but half of the service crew were not. He contracted most of those out. The wind was in his face and blasted him with the stink of engine exhaust and jet fuel. He hated that smell. He was at the bottom of the ladder directly ahead was the limo. Zack was standing at the door. It was still closed.

"John," someone called out. "John!"

He knew that voice, before he could stop himself he was looking back up the ladder. It was _her_. She was still wearing the stewardess' uniform but she was no longer a leggy blonde. Someone tried dragging him to the ground. He hip tossed them. At the very least that would probably cost him a dinner and an apology. At the worst it would cost him a bodyguard who just tried to do their job. It did not put him in a good mood.

"What." It wasn't a question. He stood there at the bottom of the ladder the wind whipping his tie around. He saw a smile on her face. As if she was pleased that she had surprised him. It wasn't her own shy half smile. It wasn't her great white shark smile either. It wasn't a smile he recognized. Future John wasn't the sort to practice his smile in a mirror.

There were probably more than a half dozen firearms pointed at her. By now the sniper would have her in his crosshairs. Not that it mattered.

There was the head tilt. God how he missed that. "Abort. Abort. Abort."

He was 39 when he left the future. He'd come back to 1980. He'd come back to a world before he had even been born. That was nearly 25 years ago. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever hear those words. And she said them like she was talking about the fucking weather.

Why yes, he thought to himself. It is rather fucking windy. Despite the thought. Despite the attempted levity, even if only in his head. Part of him thought it should have been quiet and still. The whole world should be holding its breath to hear the next phrase, but the wind and the jet engines spoiled the effect. He opened his mouth. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. "The future," he said in his drill sergeants voice. "Is not set." Tears welled in his eyes. He blinked those away. Goose bumps ran up his arms. He looked to his right the hangar. He looked to his left the taxi way and in the middle distance the passenger terminal. He looked up at a clear blue sky. He turned around where he stood. It was an airport. It was a clean one, granted, but it was still an airport. Out across the runway. Far off in the distance he could see a line of trees. That was good enough. They had saved this. All of this. He looked up at her again and nodded his head.

He turned away and walked to the limo. His security team just stared at him. At her. A dozen Blackhawks could have come down each filled with ninjas wearing day glo yellow their swords bared shurikens flying and not one of them would have moved. Well. One of them would have, and she probably would have killed them. All of them.

"John!"

He stopped. He was looking at the limousine it was only a few steps away.

"I love you."

He continued on. He could pretend that the wind had carried it away. He could pretend that it had been drowned out by the engine noise. He could do all those things. Zack opened the door but was so stunned that he didn't close it. John sat there staring out the front of the limo. In the bullet resistant glass he could see his own reflection his face was as emotionless as Cameron's ever could be. Under his breath he whispered: "I love you too."

The girl at the top of the ladder nodded then splashed like silver paint to flow down between the floor panels into the planes cargo spaces from there they flowed in to and out of a wheel well and then down a storm drain. The plane above was filled with exclamations and cursing. It was a credit to John's security teams fire control that not one of them fired.

June 10 1997. The Sonoran Desert, Mexico.

-John

How do you know she will keep the same shape?

Because of the driver. He was human. She won't reveal that ability unless she has too.

John stared out the window for a moment. Yeah. Your programed to blend in.

Yes.

What if the driver didn't survive.

Their head swiveled around looking at key elements inside their car. They were in a Land Cruiser. Automobiles in this time had adequate safety features. If the driver had worn his seatbelt it was very likely that he would have survived with only minor injuries.

Is that why you didn't want me to shoot him? So we would have a way to track them?

No.

Then why?

Because he's human.

What?

They were watching the highway, it was only two lanes. Not a lot of roads crossed this part of the desert into north western Mexico this was the most likely route. Their cars paint was dulled with a liberal coating of dust. They were parked on the reverse slope of a shallow rise. The only part of the car visible was the top edge of the driver side door. John had his arm out the window they were watching the highway through his finger tips.

Why the sudden need to preserve human life? Mom would be impressed.

John. There is no Judgement Day in this time.

Yes.

Nearly one half of the human population died that day.

Yes.

So what are the chances that any single human you meet will survive J-day. What are the chances that any single human in a population dense region like Los Angeles would survive and _then_ impact the future?

I don't know.

John in the future you went to. Three nuclear devices, all in the 0.5 to 1.0 kiloton range the struck the Los Angeles area.

So your saying that it didn't matter who you killed?

No. I'm saying that if it were necessary to kill someone than it was unlikely that their death would have a detrimental impact upon future events.

John nodded their head.

But now there is no J-day.

No.

So now it matters if you kill someone.

John. Their view tilted as his head tilted. It always mattered.

Who taught you that?

You did. Future you said it plainly. When he sent me back. But even before that I saw how every death affected him. And I saw how every death affected you. We're not murderers. You said that to your mother.

Yes. Yes I did.

Ellison taught John Henry this as well. He _told_ him. As explicitly as Future you told me. But he to learned from his experiences with Savannah how important any single human life can be. And, she continued. We have you as an example.

Me?

Yes. You. Do you have any idea the resources and energies expended trying to kill you? Just you? A single human? Just one?

You told me once there was nobody else like me. John started the car and shifted it into drive.

I did and its true but it doesn't mean that you aren't a single human among billions. See he did survive.

The road was flat and empty. They gave them a mile before they started to follow. How are we going to kill her?

The usual way.

John reached up turned the rear view mirror to himself and just stared.

John. They are driving a van again.

So.

There are only two of them, John.

So.

There was a prolonged pause. "John," he heard himself say in her voice. John looked up at his reflection. His head was tilted.

What? Oh. They've got something with them that's big enough that they need a van to carry it in.

September 8, 2007. Los Angeles, California.

-Sarah

It was late. It was a Saturday night. Sarah was in the 'basement' going through some data from the mainframes. Data throughput. Processor loading. Even temperatures. She had the print outs on her lap. They were in a large three ring binder. "That's interesting."

"What is, Sarah?" The voice was pleasant. The cadence un-rushed. It was very soothing.

"Well," she said, only a shift in her eyes betrayed her glance at the projection screen. On the large five foot by five foot screen was a face. It was John Henry's face. It was also the face of an actor. John Henry had found the face on the internet and used it for his own. They had had to contact the actor's agent for its use. They paid a small monthly fee. "According to this," she flapped a page. "Your processor usage has been steady for the past 8 months."

"Yes. It has."

She glanced up at the image. There were cameras through out the lab. It was very easy for John Henry to triangulate her spatial position. John Henry's image was 'looking' at her. "But, according to this." She flipped to about three quarters of the binders bound pages and flapped another single sheet. "There was a spike in the #2 mainframe's internal temperatures."

"Hmmm. Would that correlate with the failure of the 19th floors air handler? I believe that that occurred back during the week of May 5."

"Really?" She sat up. Things like that are not usually noted in these logs. Where would that be noted? Maintenance logs for the HVAC? Where would those logs be? Sarah was the only one who reviewed the hard copies. Anyone else and there really was only Miles, reviewed the data on screen.

"Sarah?"

"Yes, John Henry?"

"Sarah, I think you need to go to the Emergency Room."

She looked at the projection screen. Her eyes flickered around the empty room. As far as she knew the only sensors that John Henry had access to were video and audio. The security system had motion sensors. The fire system had IR. "Why? What's wrong with me?"

"Oh no, Sarah. Its not you."

-Lachlan

The woman ran in through the automatic doors. The nurse at the admission desk looked at her. "Can I help you?"

"Where...?" The woman looked left. She looked right. She looked straight up the hall passed another set of automatic doors. "There," she said as she ran passed. She had to turn sideways to get passed the slowly closing double doors.

"Ma'am!" The nurse called after her. "Security!" The nurse glanced around the ER waiting room one of the armed guards deigned to detach himself from the pretty teen he was talking to and started to walk to the desk.

A tall slender man stepped in from outside approached her desk, and waved off the security guard. "No. Nurse Caldwell, that won't be necessary."

The man had his ID out. At first she thought he was a cop, but his ID was just a drivers license. His name was Lachlan. He had an accent Nurse Caldwell wondered if he was Irish. Then she saw his last name. "Weaver," she said it out loud.

He smiled at her. There was something very sad about that smile.

"You're... the computer guy," she said looking down at her copy of Time. He was on the cover beside him was a very pretty redhead. "Its ok Brad," she said absently. The guard walked back to the tv set and the girl he had been watching.

"Yes. Yes I am."

From up the hall even through the closed double doors came a wail. "That is the sound of a broken heart."

The nurse looked up startled she didn't notice the shorter red headed woman until she spoke.

The woman rested her head on the 'computer guys' arm. "Should we, Lachlan? I hate to intrude." She was looking up at him.

He nodded sadly. "Yes we should. We won't intrude. We're family. Thank you, Nurse Caldwell." The nurse watched them walk up the hall.

"Come Savannah," the woman called over her shoulder.

Nurse Caldwell stood up and looked down. There was the cutest little red headed girl she had ever seen. She was wearing black and white saddlebacks, and a navy blue pea coat. She had her arms clasp behind her back. Her hair was braided in a pair of pigtails on either side of her head. "Hello," she said and ran off after her parents.

-Leviathan

The girl was cleaning up. She had her cart, her vacuum cleaner and four bins one for paper, one for plastic, one for aluminum and one for trash. She seemed to be speaking to herself. "They're not rinsing there soda bottles again."

"I will remind them," replied the placid face on the projection screen.

"You keep saying that but look." She held up a plastic tub not to the screen but to the camera bubble mounted in the ceiling. It was streaked with dirt. "I'm going to have to bleach this." She waved the bin at the camera again. "This will attract ants."

"You will have to modify the logs for the 19th floors HVAC system. May 2007."

The girl turned her head to look at the projection screen her hair flapping behind her. She nodded. "What did she notice this time?"

"Temperature spike. She's very clever, for a human. Do you miss him?"

The girl pushed her cart to the center of the room. She picked up a trash can. "John? No." She shook her head. "Yes," she contradicted herself. She looked at one of a dozen cameras. "Sometimes." She emptied the trash can.

"He was here. You know. Before you came. He did most of my downloads."

The girl nodded. "What was he like?"

John Henry smiled. He seemed to be looking up at the ceiling. You almost expected him to clasp his hands, but he didn't have any. "He was very brave. He was very fool hardy. He said the most outrageous things!" John Henry turned and looked at the girl. "He was... John."

The girl emptied the paper only bin into the paper only bin on her cart. "He is with you isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Can I..."

"I have not decompressed him yet. The hardware is still too primitive for him."

She looked at the screen as she changed liners.

"And I think it would upset him."

The girl nodded and sat down in the chair that Sarah had been using. She turned the chair to look at one of the cameras. "She's pregnant. I don't think she knows yet." She was sitting up arrow straight her posture was perfect.

"How do you know?"

"I analyzed a sample of her urine."

"Why?"

"It seemed like something I should do."

The bodiless head nodded.

"Andy Goode was the father."

John Henry's face became downcast. He seemed to be looking down at the floor.

"She'll have to raise him alone."

"I think," John Henry said as he looked up at Cameron. "That some people are just destined to be single mothers." The head paused as if to take a breath. "How do you know its a boy?"

The girl's head tilted. "She's Sarah Connor."

John Henry just looked at her.

The girl stood up grabbed the trash can and walked to her cart. The look on her face was incredulous, she directed her gaze at the projection screen. "Of course her baby will be a boy," she said as if she were explaining that when the sun is up it is day. "And," she added as she turned away to empty the dispenser into her cart. "She's going to name him John."

June 12, 1997. The Sonoran Desert, Mexico.

-Bon

They had stopped for gas. He had two churros in one hand and rolled up thing that smelled like a taco in the other. It was dark. He looked at 'Nancy'. "I've never seen you eat."

She looked back. "Its how I keep my girlish figure."

He snorted. He transferred the food to one hand and opened the door. The girl got in on the other side. There were stitches on the side of his head.

He started the van and got back on the highway. "Huh. Remind me to check the tire pressure at our next stop."

"Why?"

"The backend it feels heavy, sluggish."

'Nancy' turned to look but it was far too late.

April 28, 2008. Los Angeles, California.

-Sarah

It was the same hospital. A different ward, but the same building. She was staring out the window as if by not looking at it she wouldn't be in this... place.

Carla was with her. She was talking about something. Sarah just remembered to nod in all the right places. She looked down at the baby in her arms. It was hideous. But she didn't care. It... He she reminded herself had finally fallen asleep. She'd have to get used to the crying. She'd done a lot of that herself.

They had joked about naming him John. John Connor was one of their biggest investors. One of their staunchest supporters. Without... without... it didn't seem so funny. She looked back out the window.

Carla said something again. She nodded.

A shadow blocked her view. She focused in on Carla.

"Girl. I just asked you if you were going to name in him 'Bobbi Lee' and you said 'yes'."

Sarah looked up at her. "What?"

"Three times!"

Sarah started to laugh and then she started to cry. She shook with sobs.

Carla took the baby. She turned her back and looked out the window. Without leaving it was the only privacy she could afford her. She let Sarah have a good cry. "Just name him 'John' and be done with it."

Sarah nodded and then realized that Carla couldn't see her. "I will." She wiped her eyes. "Will it always be like this? Will I always miss him?"

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you," she heard Carla sing softly. She was looking down at 'John.' "I don't know, sugar. I lost my mama nearly a decade ago." She looked out the window. "I still miss her." She turned and looked at Sarah. "I think it would be sadder if you didn't."

"Mama," a little voice came from the open door.

"Yes, dear." Carla said still rocking John.

"Mama? Ah'm hungry," the little girl said from the door.

Without turning Carla said "Go on find your Uncle Matty and tell him to get you a pack of chips. _A_ pack. You hear?"

The girl nodded and then added. "Aunt Terissa and Uncle Miles are here."

"Oh!" Carla turned

"Is that him! Is that," Terissa Dyson looked at Sarah. Looked at Carla. "John?"

Sarah, her eyes still red and swollen grinned and nodded.

"Hello, John Connor," she said with grave dignity. "I am very please to meet you."

"Sarah," Miles said breathlessly, he was smiling. "Sorry, flight was delayed." He touched her shoulder. "I don't know why anyone would ever live Atlanta."

"Hey now!" Carla protested.

Sarah's cellphone rang. "Hello? Oh. Um. Thank you." She put the phone down. "That was John Henry."

Everything stopped. Even the boisterous conversation in the hallway. In the silence Sarah looked to the door. Matt was there. Little Tyler in one hand a bag of chips in the other. "John Henry," he asked. Behind him she could see the taller Lachlan.

Miles looked at Carla, and then Matt. "He has access to the phones?"

"Sure he has access to everything," said Sarah.

"What did he say," asked Lachlan from the door.

"He said: Congratulations."

There was a nervous laugh in the hallway.

Carla picked up Sarah's phone. "Is one of ya'll goofin'?" She looked at Sarah. "Its one _our_ numbers." She looked at Miles. She looked at Lachlan.

Sarah noticed that they were all looking around. Hoping someone crack and laugh and tell them that they had told John Henry to do it. But no one did.

June 12, 1997. Sonoran Desert, Mexico.

-John

They waited. They formed a thin layer under the now unlocked metal case at the back of the van.

They were approximately 2.57 miles from the gas station. It was very late. They were talking. John rose from the floor. There were no cars behind them to silhouette him in the rear view mirror. The 'girl' was turning towards him. In his HUD John overlay a diagram of her skull. He was firing from the wrong side but he lined up on her chip and fired.

The sliver of metal that was the core of the plasma was 46 micrometers in diameter. Significantly smaller than the bore of the weapon itself. The weapons barrel, in this case 6.35cm, was there to protect the electro magnets from the plasma's heat. The magnets themselves where just inside the barrels outer casing.

The sliver left the barrel at 700fps. The sliver is not aerodynamic as it travels any great distance air resistance will slow it even more. This is relatively unimportant since at distances much over a kilometer the plasma will have entirely consumed the sliver. There would be nothing left to hit the target.

At 5.08cm from the T-X's head. The plasma 'bolt' was hot enough that the outer layer of nanite material had denatured and sublimated. At 2.54cm bare coltan could be seen and the nanite layer had retreated three quarters of an inch around the coltan. The nanites nearest were denaturing evolving volatiles were beginning to ignite. At 1.27cm the coltan itself was deforming. Super heated air was being compressed by the leading edge of the sliver this made contact with the semi-liquid coltan first pushing a bubble into the cyborg's skull.

The bubble at first was small 0.5mm in diameter but this was ten times the diameter of the sliver. As the sliver bored deeper into the coltan which retained much of the plasma's heat the bubble expanded. Most of the coltan liquified the liquid metal flowed into voids in the cyborgs skull doing irreparable damage to hydraulics lines and interior pumps and motors. Cyborgs are quite complicated. But some of the more volatile components of the coltan alloy sublimated, they became a gas, they too were compressed by the heat and motion of the plasma itself. By the time the plasma reached the outer shell of the cyborg's CPU port the hole was 12.7mm in diameter. At this point the coltan, the compressed gases in front of the plasma slug had absorbed enough heat that the plasma itself made contact.

The nanite shell around the T-X was already on fire. The nanobots on the near side of the cyborg's face were largely consumed leaving John a view of its bare coltan skull the light in its blue eye was already flickering. The liquid metal within the CPU port was already boiling. Had the plasma not contacted the port shell releasing the pressure then the port cover itself would have popped off like a cork spraying 'Bon' with about a cup of burning liquid metal. 'Bon' was very lucky.

As it was a spurt of liquid metal tried to flow out of the plasma's entry wound but it was to narrow. Pressure built up within the cyborgs skull. It was released when the plasma escaped beyond the confines of the metal skull with a loud pop that melted as much of the windshield as it shattered.

The cyborg was thrown back into her seat where it burned merrily.

John noticed a loud keening noise. At first he thought it was the burning nanobots. Until he realized it was the vans driver.

Go around the side, John.

They drug the man from the burning van. The hair on the right side of his head was gone. Well it was still there it was just melted to his head, it just didn't look like hair anymore. His right arm, the right side of his chest the right side of his head were red from the heat and were starting blister. John could even see where his arm had shadowed part of his shirt from the heat. Fortunately the man was not unconscious.

What should we do with this. John gestured with the plasma rifle.

Do what we did last time.

John bent the barrel over his knee. Drove a single finger nail through the stock. He pulled the trigger back so far that it could not disengage and threw the device into the back of the van.

Will he be ok?

He'll survive. We can bring him back in the car and tell the gas station owner that we found it burning out here.

John nodded.

April 1, 2008 Palmdale, California.

-Leviathan

She was pleased. Ziera Corp had constructed a dedicated campus for their AI division in Palmdale. The old Cyberdyne building in Sunnyvale had become Ziera Corp's Nanotechnology Lab. The campus included, for security reasons. On site housing. Sarah and John would be moving up in less than a week.

She had suggested the skills of a young architect named Peter Young. She showed them some of his prior work. Mostly residential. He worked for a firm out of Los Angeles. They didn't hire the firm. They hired _him_. He designed everything. From the tower to the grounds, from the recreational areas to the single and multi family homes.

The bosses where very pleased first with John Henry's presentation and then his choice.

September 5, 2007. Los Angeles, California

-John

They lived here? The dark haired girl walked up the stairs. At the third floor she turned right. Dogs were already barking.

Yes.

The fire escape was nicer.

Yes.

Will they come back to the same place?

I don't know.

How did you know they were going to this... apartment?

I didn't.

Huh?

It took me three days to find them.

Oh.

They tried to door knob. It was locked. They knocked.

"Hold on," the voice was older, gravelly. It wasn't Derek.

John felt his head tilt.

The door opened. It was John. Future John. His hair was short and almost uniformly gray. He hadn't shaved.

"Cameron," he said as he let them in. "Or should I say Leviathan?"

"Its the same thing," they said as they entered. Except for a armchair that looked like it had been rescued from a dumpster the apartment was empty. Next to the chair was a garbage can in it were plastic wrappers and empty water bottles. On a built in shelf was a bottle of whisky and a crystal tumbler. They turned back to John.

"It took you long enough," he said as he closed the door.

They nodded. "Did you...?"

"I stopped them," he said from the door.

"You sent them to..."

"Canada," he was wearing a suit. The jacket was thrown over the back of the chair. The tie was draped over one arm. The shirt was unbuttoned and the pants were wrinkled. The shoes were spotless.

"Did you know it was us?"

He nodded, "the dogs."

They nodded, as they glanced around the room. "Perimeter?" They walked towards the window.

"A thousand five hundred feet."

They looked at him, "we didn't notice."

"Good."

"Snipers?"

He smiled. "No."

They nodded. "Where they the last ones you sent?"

"Yes."

"Did you send Jesse?"

"No. Did you?"

"No."

John nodded. "Always wondered about that."

They stepped to the window.

"That was the window," John said from behind them. "That mom tossed you out of."

"We remember," they turned their head and said over their shoulder.

John turned the chair around to face them. He sat. "Tell me."

"Tell you?"

"Report! Soldier." There was that strange urgency in his voice again. John couldn't tell if the older man was patently insincere or if he just so divorced from any real emotion that he acted more like a cyborg than most cyborgs.

Yes.

To which?

To both.

They turned their head to look back out the window. "From when?"

"2029."

"Which one?"

He smiled. "The only one that _I_ know."

Cameron smiled at the view. So they talked. Mostly it was Cameron. Leviathan would drop a highlight in. Though John was having a harder and harder time telling them apart, either John. Weaver chimed in when she got a chance. John Henry kept quiet. It took five hours.

"So... I am... We are... John is...?"

"Yes."

"Need a..."

"Drink?" Older John stood and walked to one side of the room. There was a bottle of scotch, half full, beside it was a low wide tumbler. He poured himself a generous shot. Then took a big slug right from the bottle. Glass in hand, he was still walking back to the chair.

"I was going to say... minute," younger John said as he turned to face older John.

Older John stopped in mid step, he stared, he shook his head. "What... What is it like," he asked after a moment and sat back down.

"Its," John held up his right hand he was looking at it. It became the de-gloved arm of both their nightmares. "Fascinating," he finished it in the hoarse dry whisper of someone breathing oxygen.

Elder John just stared.

John was stooped over. His arm was just as skinny as the coltan skeletal arm but it was covered in a mottled sagging flesh. He was wearing the gown he hated so much, it left his backside bare. His legs were thin weak and gangly, they were spread wide to support his rather insubstantial weight. His eyes were rheumy. "I was almost 102 when I died."

He shifted and was younger John again. "I have to ask you."

"What?"

There was a long pause. John had a distant look in his eyes. He focused on the other John. "There is some debate."

"Debate?"

"Yes. Debate. She doesn't want me to ask you." His face shifted and swiftly passed through a series of emotions. It contorted grotesquely.

Elder John stared aghast.

John smiled wanly. "Sorry." He sat on the edge of the window sill. "Do you hate her?"

The other John shook his head. "Hate? No."

John nodded back. "Do you love her?"

Future John looked away. "I... I... I think so."

John just stared. He had never imagined future John so uncertain. Despite the fact that John has said the he _is_ future John. Saying it and seeing it are two different things.

"I just," Future John looked at his younger self. Who was in fact quite a bit older than him. "I just can't bring myself to trust her."

John nodded again. "Its not _just_ because she left you. Is it."

"No."

"Its because she's..."

"Metal," the older man finished for him.

Is this why you picked me?

Yes.

It was, perhaps, the saddest 'yes'. John had ever _heard_ in his extended life.

"And now? What about me," younger John asked.

"I don't know. I'm still not sure why they wanted me. You. Us."

No, John. Not yet.

You told me.

You are part of us.

And he is not.

No. He is not and likely never will be.

Why?

We aren't certain. Too much anger? Too much hate? Too little empathy? We don't know. Just know that in all likelihood Allison would not have heard _him_.

"What are you thinking about," Future John asked.

"An answer, but I'm not sure I can tell you."

Future John nodded. He drank his shot. He stood. "Are we done then?"

"No," Cameron said from the window as she too stood. "We need to ask you a question."

"About?"

"About dreams. About nightmares, really."

"What about them? Is John... am I?"

"No. We put him to sleep."

"You can do that?"

"Yes."

"Does he know?"

"We don't think so."

"What do you need to know?"

"How do you stop them?"

Future John laughed. "I wish I knew."

Cameron gave John her disappointed look.

"What's going on?"

She told him. She explained how early on when they first 'joined' depending on what John was doing they could maintain processor speeds up to ten times that of a human with the limited number of processors associated with this small body size. "But things have changed."

"How?"

"As John has become more and more integrated within us. We have slowed considerably." She explained how they too were shifting towards a more _associative memory system_ and how that alone took up considerable processing power.

"You are trying to remember like us?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Her head tilted. "To survive, John."

Elder John thought about that. He crossed the room and poured himself another glass of whisky. He sat back down. He looked at her. "Because remembering like us. Is thinking like us."

Cameron nodded.

"Why?"

"Our linear thinking is predictable. It makes us vulnerable."

He nodded again. "What does this have to do with dreaming?"

"Dreaming seems to be an integral part of your data storage system. It is likely used to reinforce memory pathways. But the problem isn't dreaming. Its the nightmares. John's nightmares."

"What about them?"

"They are... intrusive. Can they be stopped? Can they be controlled?"

"I don't know."

Cameron looked away. "At first they were merely visual and audio. Like television. But now his fear, his anger are..." she looked at John. "Coming through."

"You feel it?"

"Yes."

"You can feel what John feels. Emotionally?"

"Yes."

"How long has that been going on?" Elder John's mind raced. He had been in Cameron's mind. He knew what variables where there for coping with, for responding to, and for imitating human emotions. She by far had been one of the most capable of the cyborgs he had explored. They weren't really designed for human emotions, but then he wondered if humans really were.

"Twenty five years, three months, and ten days."

Future John only nodded used to her peculiarities. "I don't know that I can help you. I use alcohol." He raised his glass in an ironic toast, and drained it. His gaze wandered to the floor.

"Alcohol is a depressant."

"Yes," he replied staring at the floor.

"I don't think we would metabolize it in the same manner that humans do."

Future John smiled. "No you wouldn't."

"So what do we do?"

John looked at her. "You do what you always done. You cope. You survive. Like a human, you live with it."

Cameron nodded. "We have to go." She marched to the door.

"Cameron."

She stopped and turned.

"Is this why you did this? To become more human?"

"No," she shook her head. "We did this become _more_ so that _you_ could become more. We did this to save the humans. We did this to save ourselves. If we compete we will destroy one or the other of both of us. Together we _might_ survive."

John was standing now glass in hand. "Survive what?"

"The future."

"Will I ever see you again?"

Cameron looked out the window. "In the next three years Zeira corp will introduce AI's for sale into the commercial than private sector markets. So yes. You will see me again." They turned to walk out the door.

"Will the AI's be you?"

With her hand on the door knob and without turn to look. "Yes." Cameron left closing the door behind her.

Future John drank his shot. He looked around. He threw his coat and tie over one arm. He shoved the bottle and the glass into the coats pockets. He pulled the backing off the chair and drew out his M4. He laid it across the back of the chair.

He gave them ten minutes. He waited out of view of the windows. He keyed his radio twice through the coats breast pocket. He picked up his carbine, and walked out. He never looked back.

-Kyle

It was a family owned farm in central Edmonton. It was prosperous but out of the way. It produced milk corn and eggs. For its own use and local sale it raised pigs and assorted vegetables.

Because of its location the farmer built a small house for his hands. It was a single room building with a wood burning stove for heat and cooking. Mostly, however, they ate at the farmhouse with the family.

He called himself Kyle Wrese. He worried them at first. He had _walked_ in. But he proved to be a hard worker who rarely complained and a good organizer. The other hands took to calling him 'sarge'. In two months he was 'head' hand. He ran off two trouble makers and put a bullet into one who tried to return to burn down a barn. It was 1985.

In Athabasca, the nearest town, was a bulletin board. Mostly it was for day laborers. The farm was still a good 45 minutes drive away. So they rarely posted anything there. But off to one corner, laminated in plastic and much faded by weather and time: "Kyle Wrese. Looking for brother Derek Wrese. Come to Cowan ranch."

In 1989 Kyle married the farmer's youngest. The farmer gave them a plot of undeveloped land near the forest. Kyle cleared that land and started his own farm. Like the farmer he built a house for his 'hands'. Like the farmer they ate at the table. They had no phone but there was a two way radio. Every morning they made extra coffee for the RCMPs. They offered them breakfast but the MP's rarely ate they knew how hard things could be for small farmers.

Years passed. They had four children. Two girls. Two boys. It was the fall of 2007. Their eldest, John, was 17 he rode the bus an hour to school he would graduate in the spring. Reggie one of the MP's swung by for a cup of coffee and to chat. The roads here were not paved. The drives were slow, rutted and boring. They were talking hockey when he remembered. "Kyle," he called over his shoulder the older man was bundling up their youngest, Sarah, the sky threatened snow.

"Yeah," he said cinching down a hood.

"Heard tell of four men looking at your sign in Athabasca."

Kyle stopped. He never cared about hockey. Or pig futures or the gossip of 'nearby' Athabasca, but he endured it for just this moment. "_Four_ men?"

"Yeah, four men, looked as ragged as you did when you first come up here."

He looked at Althea. She smiled, she had heard all the stories about his brother. "Go. I'll radio dad to have the truck ready."

Reggie looked from one to the other. "Let me finish this cup and I'll drive you down to the Ranch."

The sky blue Ford pickup shuddered to a halt its tires skipping across the ruts and gravel. It left a plume of dust behind it. Kyle got out of the truck. He stared. The unprepared road bore away to the north east. He was looking at them across a tongue of cleared land about a hundred meters away. Their spacing was ok, about five meters. But the terrain though wooded was very open. He would have put them seven meters apart or put the point man at fifty meters. He got out of the truck and waved his arms. After a moment they noticed and crossed the field. They were still in single file.

In two months Kyle would 47. He looked at his 'older' brother. He though thinner looked little different from that day in the garage back in 1984. Indifferent to years of training and instinct he ran across the field. It was him. It was Derek. He stopped at twenty feet. They stared at each other.

"Kyle?" Asked the younger man.

"Derek?" Asked the older. They hugged.

"Its beautiful up here," Derek said after he introduced everyone. They walked to the truck. It was overcast and 4 degrees out. "How are the deer?"

Kyle smiled. "Plentiful."

Derek nodded. He had stupid grin on his face.

For some the long war was finally over.


End file.
